


All I Want

by WellDoneBeca



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 1940s, A lot of people are located in different families now, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Arranged Marriage, Arya Stark & Sansa Stark Have a Good Relationship, Arya Stark and Sansa Stark are cousins, Arya is Lyanna's daughter, Catelyn Tully Stark Dies, Characters behaving out of character, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, First Time, I promise, I promise it is for a reason, Joffrey Baratheon is His Own Warning, Joffrey Baratheon is a Little Shit, Jon Snow is Not a Stark, Jon Snow is a Gift, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Loss of Virginity, Minor Catelyn Tully Stark/Ned Stark, Minor pairings - Freeform, Missionary Position, Monogamy, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Princess Sansa Stark, This relationship dynamic has a purpose, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:27:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 23,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21728281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WellDoneBeca/pseuds/WellDoneBeca
Summary: Life as a princess isn’t what people fantasise. As first in line to the throne, there were things Sansa dreamed to do but never could, and things she never wanted to do but needed. Rules, duties, roles to be fulfilled… Her father had taught her to put the crown before everything in her life, and if she hadn’t learnt that lesson before, she needed to now. Marrying Jon Targaryen was never in her plans, but Sansa needed him as much as he needed her.All she wanted was to love him and to be loved back.Nothing more than that. Nothing less.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 107
Kudos: 371





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Nothing Less](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14174553) by [WellDoneBeca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WellDoneBeca/pseuds/WellDoneBeca). 



> So, a short warning: I've reconstructed the whole family tree of every family in this story. Some people have different parents, some people have one canon parent and a whole different character as their parent...  
> So... Enjoy.
> 
> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/welldonebeca)
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://welldonebeca.tumblr.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/welldonebeca)
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://welldonebeca.tumblr.com/)

Sansa took a long and deep breath, staring at herself in the mirror. The wedding dress looked perfect on her, but her eyes could barely register it, her mind was too far away, certainly not what a bride expected on her big day.

“You don’t need to do it,” Eddard touched her back, his gaze staring into hers through their images. “We can find another way.”

She just kept focused at herself in the mirror. Her face was cold, and her eyes were digging so deep into her own reflection that Sansa could feel her very soul breaking into pieces.

“They are waiting for us,” she reminded him. “Everyone.”

She closed her eyes and then opened them once again, the same old mantra playing in her head. This wasn't for herself, she couldn't give herself that luxury.

“They need us,” she repeated, maybe more to herself than to her father. It was too late to change her mind now. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Ned held her arm, walking out of his daughter’s chambers and through the corridor while the staff watched them.

Eddard and Sansa were alone. She was an only child, having lost her mother early in life along with an unborn brother, and was the obvious future queen. It’s not like they were in a full monarchy, though, but their roles were important. Her father’s decisions were always to be accompanied and measured by the parliament and his authority had limits these days, as well as hers would. Still, there were things she needed to answer for and alliances that still required her. That’s why she was in that dress today.

Jon Rhaegar Rodwell Nymerios Targaryen was the prince of a country close to theirs, much smaller but that needed their help. They were currently in a war, running out of soldiers and even food, and his older brother – King Aegon – had approached her father with a proposition of exchanging his younger brother for full support. Eddard wanted to refuse, stating Sansa wasn’t a coin to be exchanged and he couldn't do that to the boy, but she didn’t. She was getting older – the two of them were – and the pressure to find a husband was turning her life into a mess. Every man she would ever meet was trying to get a place by her side or, worse, her bed. Everyone who approached Sansa wanted something and she couldn’t take that any more.

So here she was, sat in a carriage and waving outside with a large smile while people cheered like it was a big world occasion. 

“We can still leave,” her father affirmed when the carriage stopped in front of the church. “We can leave, just say the word.”

Sansa shook her head, squeezing his hand, relaxing for a moment and giving herself a moment to take in another breath. 

“Come on, dad,” she smiled once again. “I’m not going back now.”

The king walked her into the huge cathedral and the two stopped to talk to the bishop. She couldn’t hear them, as Jeyne – her maid of honour - fixed the back of her dress and positioned herself along with the bridesmaids and the page boys.

When Sansa and Eddard finally started walking, she had to tell herself out of squeezing her father’s hand too tightly or walking too slow – or fast. Her smile was almost painful to hold. She could feel the hand he had around hers tightening when they both lied eyes on the man standing with his back turned to them beside his brother – the king. Jon was strong, with large shoulders and strong arms that could probably lift her up with no effort, but shorter than her.

When he broke protocol and looked at his bride over his shoulder, his eyes were the most grey Sansa had ever seen in her life, even greyer than her father’s, beautiful and bright. She couldn’t hear the words spoken to her, not with him looking at her with the corner of those eyes. When he turned to face her, he couldn’t raise them to her face, but his voice was firm and his grip tight on her hand as he said his words.

“I, Jon Rhaegar Rodwell Nymerios, take thee, Sansa Alys Raya Gilliane Lynarra, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy law; and thereto I give thee my troth.“

Sansa took a long breath before it was her turn. She and her father had had a long discussion about what she was going to say and how much that would mean.

_Don’t make promises you can’t keep._

“I, Sansa Alys Raya Gilliane Lynarra, take thee, Jon Rhaegar Rodwell Nymerios, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy law; and thereto I give thee my troth.”

She could see the moment on Jon’s face. The single, _small_ word she’d left out that made his jaw twitch and his eyes to freeze on her face. Sansa could feel everyone staring at them, from King Aegon to her husband and every single person inside the building.

Obey.

She didn’t promise to obey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/welldonebeca)
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> Find me on [Tumblr](https://welldonebeca.tumblr.com/)


	2. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/welldonebeca)
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> Find me on [Tumblr](https://welldonebeca.tumblr.com/)

Jon had given up his nationality, titles, and right to the throne of King’s Landing a week before marrying Sansa. All he had from his past was part of his name, and only because of the King’s insistence over the parliament wanting ti make him a _Snow,_ a name once used to name bastard children. Targaryen. He was still a Targaryen.

They’d known each other for about five months and gotten engaged three weeks after their first meeting. The reasons behind their marriage were a secret to be kept and a cover story was carefully written to keep people from speculating.

To them, Sansa and Jon had met when he travelled in his brother’s name to Winterland around one year and a half ago and kept constant contact ever since. They both shared the same love for films – especially those with Vivien Leigh – and Shakespeare, and he’d fallen for her when he heard her singing and playing the piano while looking for the restroom during his visit.

_Bullshit._

“These shoes are killing me,” Sansa whispered to Arya as Jeyne fixed her white dress for the pictures. “Why do I need to wear heels, again?”

“Because you’re a princess,” her cousin pointed out with a chuckle. “If I knew how to escape protocol, believe, I would have already.”

“You’ll be able to take those off soon enough,” Jeyne assure her. “There will be a change of clothing for the ball.”

“Besides, you won’t need to wear heels a lot. Your husband is pretty short.”

Sansa was ready to answer but went back to her standard position when Jon walked to stand by her side. He was, indeed, shorter – a strong contrast to his brother, who was relatively tall – but that didn’t change the fact he was very handsome.

“You look very lovely,” her _husband_ whispered, and she felt a shiver running her skin.

His voice was low, thick and warm, with a comforting but thrilling sound.

“Thank you,” Sansa said back as he stood straight, taking her hand. “You look very handsome.”

“Thank you.”

Pictures and more pictures were taken. The two alone, and then with the people waiting, family, and friends. Her father was the last one and, when it was done, he walked Sansa to a chair and kneeled in front of her, earning wide looks from the foreign guests.

“Arya mentioned you were complaining about your shoes,” he explained nonchalantly, ignoring the looks they were receiving. “Why didn’t you mention before?”

“I didn’t think they would hurt too bad,” she pulled the dress up enough as he helped her feet out of the straps. “They are too high.”

“I can see that.”

Sansa didn’t miss Jon whispering something to King Aegon and the way both men watched them. They were a relatively small family: The queen mother – Elia – was still alive, though her husband had passed away half a decade prior, and they were their only children. They were never close to their father. Aegon was married to Margaery, a young and beautiful woman, but refraining himself from having children until the war was over. Now that Jon had given up his nationality and titles, his cousin Rhaego was the official heir to the crown.

“Thank you,” Sansa muttered when he helped her put on her favourite pair of _very comfortable_ shoes. They were a bit old, but she didn’t mind, and no one could complain about it anyway.

“Not for that,” he stood up. “How do I look?”

“Like a king.”

Ned smiled, helping his daughter up, and the doors were opened so she and Jon could walk outside and show off to the public eye. The newly-weds walked in hand in hand, followed by the other people but never looking back at them.

“I didn’t think so many people would show up,” he said by her side, sounding surprised and a bit excited. “They filmed us.”

“They are still filming,” she corrected him. “Taking pictures, probably writing about us.”

“About your dress?” he sounded amused.

“Oh, that too,” Sansa focused on a group of children, giving them a kind smile. “But also questioning my decision of marrying a foreign man, questioning your decision of giving everything up for me. Wondering how long it will take for me to start popping up children and if my overly protective father even thinks you are enough. Speculating whether you will still be an active man of the military or not from now on and how much influence on me that will have. How much _you_ will influence _them_.”

Sansa could see how the words had surprised him, but Jon didn’t have time to say anything, as they were already walking back into the room and the wedding celebration.

“Do I really need to stay?” she questioned her father in a whisper. “I’m exhausted.”

The wedding was over, that was the important part. She'd done her duty.

“You know you do. You decided to do this, after all,” he put his arm around hers. “There is the first dance and all of the diplomatic items you need to do. We will play your favourite song, what do you think?”

Sansa hesitated but took a breath.

“I decided to do this, remember? There's no backing now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/welldonebeca)
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://welldonebeca.tumblr.com/)


	3. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/welldonebeca)
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://welldonebeca.tumblr.com/)

Jon watched as Sansa sat on the armchair, still looking stunning but with tiredness behind her blue eyes. He’d loved her eyes as soon as he saw them closely. They were strong, brutal, and yet too delicate. A woman with no soft heart, he heard people say when he asked around, older than her age and beyond her time.

A perfect and adored princess to a pompous country.

“Do you need help?” he questioned when he noticed how hard it looked to bend down in such a tight ball gown.

The wedding had happened in the afternoon, just before the sunset, and had given place to a ball where Sansa had changed into a dress as white as the one she had used at the church, and even higher heels. They danced together there and he had finally had the real opportunity of looking at her, of feeling her finally. He’d never smelt such an attractive scent as her. Honestly, he wished it was acceptable for him to dip his wife and put his face in the crook of her neck and spend the night there, but she would probably feel uncomfortable with such contact.

“Thank you,” Sansa muttered just before he kneeled in front of her – just like her father earlier – and handed her right foot delicately, removing the tight shoe and rubbing the front of it just before doing it to the next one.

The long sigh she left didn’t go unnoticed by him, and he held back a small grin.

“There you go,” he muttered. “Does it feel better?”

His wife nodded shyly, suddenly realising the position the two were and raised her eyes quickly at the knock on the open door.

“Your Royal Highness,” her Lady of the Chamber stopped in front of them. “Is my assistance required?”

“Yes, please,” Sansa stood up, feeling her cheeks awfully hot. “I need to get out of this dress.”

Jon stepped back, excusing himself with a mutter before giving her privacy and walking out of the chambers they shared, and stepping into the bedroom. The place looked comfortable, classical and large as expected. The bed – a special design – could fit at least three men of his size and still have some room left. With the number of pillows there, he could for sure make some sort of separator between them when the time to sleep came. They were staying in Winterfell – a castle named after the capital, the same castle Sansa had grown up in, where King Eddard lived. They had their own wing, of course, so far away from her father’s that a phone call was an easier way to communicate than walking into wherever he could be. It was close to the kitchen at least and to the gym that he’d have installed there. It was close enough to Aegon’s chambers too so that he could spend the last days of his brother’s stay with him. Maybe Sansa could even have some time with Marge and become friends.

On the door opposite to the one leading to the room she was in, his own servant waited to help him change into his sleepwear. It took him less time to get out of his formal attire and into warm cotton flannels after dismissing the silk option.

“Thank you,” he wrapped himself in his cotton robes. “You may go.”

Winterfell was probably the coldest place he had ever been in his life, but he didn’t doubt it wasn’t the worst in the country. Winterland was much bigger than the Crownlands. In the past, their continent was divided into nine kingdoms, and Winterland was formed by six of them, leaving the Crowlands with only the places once known as the Stormlands, the old Crowlands and Dorne – Although they had a small section of the old Reach, according to some maps.

Jon closed the door behind him himself, wondering what the people around were thinking. Did the staff know the truth or were they blissfully unaware of how he didn’t know his bride, the woman who would lay by his side, apart from formalities? Did they think they would consummate the marriage or just sleep in awkward silence?

He could hear when Sansa’s servant walked out of the other room and the doors were closed, giving place to a deafening lack of sound only interrupted by the way the fabric of her ivory gown rubbing on itself.

“Your Royal Highness,” he muttered, making her raise her eyebrows at him.

“You can’t be serious,” she stared at his face. “I have a name.”

“Sansa Alys Raya Gilliane Lynarra?” he smirked.

“Sansa,” she corrected him. “Would you enjoy if I called you Your Royal Highness, Jon Rhaegar Rodwell Nymerios, Duke of Winterfell every time we spoke to one another?”

Jon chuckled in a mixture of discomfort and amusement.

Duke. Not a prince. Not any more.

“That would be awfully annoying,” he muttered. “I’d prefer to be called Jon.”

He smiled and Sansa returned it without seeming to think before sitting on the bed. She had a beautiful smile.

“Sansa,” he said, now much more relaxed and pulling a chair to sit in front of her at an arm’s distance. “I imagine we need to talk about… tonight.”

She confirmed, and he watched as her beautiful face changed back to the usual neutral and almost cold expression he’d been used to see.

“I don’t think we should,” he hesitated, trying to find his words and swallowing saliva. “I don’t think we should rush things. I don’t know you and you don’t know me.”

Sansa nodded slowly, and he saw her shoulders move as if something was lifted from them. She was nervous too, it made things much easier.

“Do you want your own bed?” she offered.

He shook his head.

“No, no,” he smiled. “There certainly is space for both of us in there.”

Sansa nodded once again, and he ran a hand up and down his thigh.

“So,” he looked into her eyes. “How do your feet feel?”

His wife just stared at him in silence, head tilted slightly to the side and a frown between her eyebrows, creating a single line there.

“I took off your shoes five minutes ago. You seemed to be in agonising pain. How did you manage to dance with them?”

She just offered him a dismissive expression.

“You learn things when you are a woman. Swallowing your pain is one of them.”

He looked down at his own hands for one moment and then at her feet, coming up with an idea.

“Lay down, give me them,” he reached out, lifting her ankles and trying not to glance at how the gown slipped up to reveal the soft pale skin of her naked calves.

“What are you doing?” his wife sounded alarmed.

“Giving my wife a foot rub,” he said like it was obvious. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/welldonebeca)
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> Find me on [Tumblr](https://welldonebeca.tumblr.com/)


	4. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/welldonebeca)
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://welldonebeca.tumblr.com/)

Sansa had fallen asleep while Jon rubbed her feet, too lost in the relaxing comfort to even notice herself drift away, and he'd tucked her in before laying down himself.

He had woken up in the middle of the night – at 2 or 3 am, perhaps – with the sound of metal hitting metal, looking at his side just to see that his wife wasn’t there.

“Sansa?” he called, trying not to sound too loud but receiving no response back, hesitating and then following the sounds until they disappeared.

Jon never imagined a single wing could be so big and easy to get lost inside. The staff was asleep and the guards were changing posts, which left no one to guide him through the halls. He had to stop for a whole minute to find himself, but the sound of a low humming quickly brought his feet to the right way.

Standing in front of the oven with the thin lace and silk gown she'd slept in, Sansa seemed to be singing the same song she had danced to with her father earlier that day, distracted while putting what looked like fried eggs in a plate.

“What are you doing?” he questioned, making her jump startled and the frying pan in her hand fell on her opposite hand, clearly pressing against the surface under it before falling close to her feet on the floor.

_Oh, shit._

Jon moved quickly, seeing the red mark on the back of her hand and realising what he had just caused.

_Wait, had she just whisper the lowest ‘Fuck’ he’d ever heard or was he mistaken?_

“Goodness,” Sansa exclaimed, holding her own wrist and letting the frying pan fall to the floor. “What are you doing here? You should be asleep.”

“I heard you walking out of the room,” he pulled her to the closest sink, putting her hand under running water and biting down a curse when he noticed how part of her skin had gone with the metal, and how the whole area between the start of her fingers and the circle of her wrist was damaged and already blistering. “Good God.”

When he turned to look at her face, he couldn’t help but feel extremely surprised. Sansa wasn’t even grimacing, only biting her lip in response to what he knew was a _strong_ feeling of pain. That was a second-degree burn, not a casual stumble.

“We need to get someone to give this a look,” he decided, opening cabinets around to find any pan or anything he could fill with water and put her hand inside. “I am so sorry.”

“The next door,” she pointed, making him look at her. “The door next to this one. You’re looking for a big pan, you will find it.”

Jon followed her instruction, looking around for any bell he could ring to bring someone as he picked the pan and filled it up, pulling her hand from the running water to lay in the container.

“I am so sorry,” he continued to repeat, finally finding a calling button and ringing it furiously. “Does it hurt?”

“I’ll survive,” Sansa said calmly. “They won’t answer. We’re not ringing from our room, they won’t think it is important.”

Jon froze, turning to look at his wife in worry.

“Someone needs to look at your hand.”

“It is nothing to worry too much about,” she looked at the injury, removing her hand from underwater and drying it with the closest cloth. “It will be fine.”

He looked at his wife in surprise. Any other person he could have ever met would be – at least – complaining and crying in pain. She wasn’t even reacting.

“What were you doing?” he turned the subject around, walking to the large freezer in hope to find ice.

“Frying eggs,” she looked at him. “What did it look like I was doing?”

Jon frowned. What did she think she was, a _commoner?_

“You know the kitchen staff is there for this exact reason, right? If you’re hungry, you just need to ask them for food.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, walking back to her plate and seeing how some of the eggs were on the floor. Jon suddenly wondered if she would clean it herself or would ask someone to do it.

“They are asleep. They worked for days to make the party happen and it’s not like there are leftovers, they took that home with them.”

“Why haven’t you eaten at the party, then?”

The way she looked at him made him freeze for a moment, seeing as her eyes filled with fire for one single second before something else took place.

“Have you seen my ball gown?” she frowned. “Or my wedding dress? I’ve been dieting since our engagement was announced and only eating soup and drinking juice since I learnt that we would be broadcasted.”

His eyes widened. Well, she did look a lot thinner since the first time he saw her but that wasn’t something he would first expect.

“Wait,” he raised a hand. “You haven’t eaten anything solid in 10 weeks? Give me those eggs, you can’t start so suddenly!” he walked to her, pulling her plate away and walking to the trash, throwing away the content.

Sansa stared at him, mortified, but any protests were interrupted when a man walked into the kitchen.

“Your Royal Highnesses,” he sounded surprised. “How can I be useful?”

Instantly, Jon stood straighter.

“My wife is hungry. Could you have someone fetch her some rice or corn cream, please? Thank you.”

The staff man nodded.

“And a doctor or nurse or… Anything like that. She burned her hand, someone has to give it a look,” her husband requested before he could leave. “That is all.”

The man nodded only again.

“It will be done, your royal highness. Excuse me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/welldonebeca)
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> Find me on [Tumblr](https://welldonebeca.tumblr.com/)


	5. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/welldonebeca)
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://welldonebeca.tumblr.com/)

“You can cook,” Jon noticed as Sansa ate her tomato soup. “How did you learn?”

“I can’t cook,” she rested her spoon. “I can fry eggs. My nanny taught me when I was around 10 without my father’s knowledge. She thought it would be useful.”

He smirked in response. A doctor had come to see her hand and clean it, and now she had gauze around it. It was a second-degree burn, and it would heal after some weeks and care.

“I see her point,” he decided. “Enjoying your cream?”

“I would like eggs much better,” Sansa glared at him.

“Well, if you try them you’ll probably get sick,” he corrected her. “Once I served in a country with a terrible problem of starvation. The climate and the government were to blame. Anyway,” he explained. “One of our soldiers made the mistake of feeding a starving woman with no preparation or care. She had severe pains and diarrhoea.”

Sansa tried to keep her eyes on him even though the embarrassment inside her made her face burn. It was stupid telling him about her diet. He probably thought of her as very stupid now.

“The right procedure is to introduce food slowly,” he continued. “First liquids. Then creams. Small solids with the person chewing as best as they can. It can take up to days or weeks for the person to be able to eat a fully solid meal with no ill effects. I’m simply caring for you.”

She went back to her cream and glanced at her side when she saw the eggs being cleaned from the floor.

“Who suggested it?” he questioned.“The liquid diet?”

The princess seemed taken back by the question but answered after a second of thought.

“One of my ladies-in-waiting. Barbara something. She is one of those who helps me dress up.”

“Noble birth?” he inquired once again.

“No,” she shook her head. “Staff member. We don’t have the costume of having noble ladies as ladies-in-waiting here.”

Jon nodded, finally leaving the subject aside but acknowledging every bit of information.

“You didn’t need any diet,” he said in a lower tone. “You would look lovely in any way.”

He held a smile when Sansa stared at him in surprise.

“If my opinion matters, I mean.”

He tried to keep himself from laughing when she shifted in her seat.

“Thank you.”

* * *

“I think I married the personification of the lands of always Winter,” Jon said, prompting Aegon to arch an eyebrow. “I mean it.”

“You’re overreacting.”

The brothers were spending time together while Sansa was in a meeting with her father, and the two and Margaery had just had brunch together.

“She never laughs!” Jon exclaimed. “I tried my best. I cracked some jokes, complimented her, told her stories… cold as a freezer. We’ve been married for two days and she has barely smiled at me so far.”

“Maybe you are losing your charm,” Margaery said behind them, rubbing her husband shoulders. “She looks like she is a very lovely girl. I heard she has interesting tastes.”

He rested his back on his chair.

“Like what?”

“Animated movies,” she shrugged. “Disney’s, especially. She met the man at one of her birthdays and everyone says it was probably the day they saw her the most happy she'd even been. Pinocchio, Dumbo… I heard there is a new production… Bimbo? Bambo? Something like that.”

“Bambi,” he corrected her. “It is from an Australian book.”

“I think mother read it to us, Jon,” Aegon pointed. “Isn’t it about the deer?”

His brother nodded.

“Anyway,” Margaery waved her hand. “Take her to the film, eat some popcorn with butter, maybe candy… Be a couple. It’s simple.”

Jon bit his lower lip, thinking of the suggestion and standing up.

“Of course. If you’ll excuse me now.”

“Where are you going?” Jon questioned.

“Have a moment with King Eddard,” he fixed his suit in front of a mirror, making sure everything was in place. “There is something worrying me and I think it may be of his interest.”

His brother looked at him in surprise, but Jon walked away from them the same way, stopping in front of the king’s office a few minutes later and taking a long breath, waiting to be announced.

He felt weird walking into that room. Pictures and more pictures of the previous monarchs and members of the Stark family, including a large frame with a younger version of Sansa, her mother, and her father standing together, which finally revealed to him the face of the long-gone Queen Catelyn, who his wife resembled more than he expected.

“Your majesty,” he bowed in respect.

“Jon,” King Eddard nodded back. “I’m sorry I took so long, you probably know how the latest days have been busy.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he nodded. “I’m sure Your Majesty has many…”

“Boy,” he interrupted him. “Before you start. Who are you here to talk to?”

He frowned, not understanding. What kind of question was that?

“Are you here for the king or the man?” Eddard explained, seeing how the younger man’s posture changed to a more relaxed one.

“I’m here to talk to my wife’s father,” he finally answered. “Sir.”

Eddard breathed deep, sitting back in the armchair behind him.

“Sit down,” he unbuttoned his suit, foregoing the King's chair and sitting down onto the same couch Jon was about to sit. “What is wrong?”

Jon complied but shifted in his seat, a bit uncomfortable.

“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, have you noticed the change in Sansa’s shape?” he asked carefully. “Since our engagement was announced, especially?”

Eddard face changed in confusion as he stared at the man in front of him.

“Well…” he hesitated. “I did.”

His father-in-law was looking at him with a puzzled fac, clearly not understanding where he was going with it.

“Sir, I know this may sound a bit out of place with all your worries, but I’m only here because I think it is of your interest to know what kind of people are working and influencing your daughter,” Jon continued. “It came to my knowledge recently that someone suggested that the princess was, and forgive my words, too chubby for the telly. A lady in waiting, to be more specific. Barbara.”

King Eddard sat back and took a long breath, seeming deeply annoyed with the information.

“She proceeded to a full liquid diet and… Sir, I have some medical training from when I served and I don’t think it was something very healthy for her,” he affirmed. “I’ve communicated with the kitchen’s chef and they are making the right modifications to her meals and their frequency, but I would like to be sure nothing like that would ever happen again. The princess’ healthy is something very important.”

Silently, his father-in-law reached out for a bell button by his side, ringing it twice and making the staff member enter the room.

“I need Jon Arryn here,” he requested. “Immediately. You can go, Jon. Thank you for letting me know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	6. V

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“You did what?” Sansa squeezed her own hand tightly in what seemed to be contained anger while staring at her husband with a fake calm façade that just _burned_ with anger.

“I talked to your father,” he said slowly, suddenly rethinking what he'd done. “That woman was a terrible influence on you, that diet was a terrible decision and we both know that.”

Her face changed for a moment, and he could see her blue eyes boiling like a volcano ready to explode. Yes, maybe it would be a better idea to talk to _her_ first.

“So you don’t think I could have taken care of the problem with her alone?”

He shook his head, stepping closer and laying a hand on her arm, caressing her skin in order to bring his wife, down but keeping a respectful distance from her _always_ crossed hands.

“No. I simply wanted to help you,” Jon corrected her. “I’m caring for you. I’m your husband. Let me do that. Were you two friends?”

Apparently, the touch calmed her down.

“No.”

“So that won’t be a problem, right?” he squeezed her softly. “I’m sorry if my decision hurt you. I didn’t mean to.”

Sansa looked down at her own hands, and he could see how they weren’t clenched any more.

“You are my husband,” she looked up at him, staring hard into his eyes. “So I’m going to be clear and straight with you.”

Jon nodded, making circles on her light and soft skin with his thumb.

“Of course.”

“Don’t defy my authority again,” she looked in his eyes. “Don’t make me look weak again, don't try to have more authority than me. If you do, I’ll make you regret it. _Never_ try to overpower me.”

He swallowed, the hardness of her eyes making his throat suddenly dry. 

“Of course,” he nodded, pulling his touch away. “It won’t happen again.”

He looked around the room, feeling his whole body tense. How could someone so sweet and so beautiful be so hard? What has the world done to her?

“I was thinking,” he tried to change the subject. “And I was wondering if you had the evening free.”

“Why?” Sansa moved her weight from one foot to the other, and he could see how she was in high-heels once again.

“I heard there is a new Disney film out,” he tried to smile. “I was wondering if you would want to go.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw her raise her chin and breathe deeply.

“What film?”

“Bambi,” he turned fully to his wife, glancing at the clock behind her. “It starts in three hours, do you wish to go?”

Sansa uncrossed her hands, which made his body relax. _She was open to it._

“I’ll go get ready.”

Jon smiled, much more relaxed.

“Would you consider some special dinner after the session?”

She hesitated.

“Special?”

“I was thinking of a restaurant,” he explained. “I heard you like Thai cuisine quite much since you visited the country.”

For one moment Sansa looked surprised but recomposed herself.

“Did you make reservations?”

* * *

“Bambi?” Arya raised her head from the comforter in the Princess’ room, where she was laid. “My nanny used to read it to me when I was a child. It is a beautiful tale. A bit sad, though, you should bring some tissues.”

Sansa shook her head in disapproval.

“I don’t cry, Arya,” she reminded her cousin. “I thought you already knew that.”

The brown-haired girl rolled her eyes.

“Of course, your _majesty_ ,” she mocked in an exaggerated motion while her lady-in-waiting stepped away from her to pick up her hat. “The future queen’s façade. How could I ever forget?”

Sansa did her best to ignore Arya, running a hand over the place where her skirt and blouse met.

“You look gorgeous,” her cousin stopped behind her with a grin. “He won’t be able to look away.”

Sansa smirked, letting out a giggle that made Arya friend smile largely.

“Look at you,” she walked to stand in front of the redhead. “Sansa has a boyfriend!” she sang it.

“He is my husband,” the corrected her, and the brunette made a dismissive motion with her hand. “Are you sure you like it?”

Arya rolled her eyes.

“Yeah. I always tell you when I don’t like something,” she pointed out.

Sansa glanced at the lady-in-waiting choosing her earrings.

“Are you going to kiss him?” her cousin asked.

The question made her eyes widen.

“Arya!” she exclaimed, alarmed.

“What?” her cousin frowned. “I’m just asking.”

“Oh, shut up,” the princess looked back at the mirror. “Ella, I think the ones with the garnets will fit perfectly.”

* * *

“Wow,” Jon muttered just as Sansa stood in front of him, dressed and ready to leave. “You look stunning. I don’t even know why they still hold those Miss Universe competitions when you are right here with me.”

Sansa cracked a – very – small smile before turning her face back to ‘lovely-neutral’ but it was enough to fill Jon with confidence and hope.

_A smile. Maybe I can have a laugh today._

“Sir,” he heard, turning around to see the staff man holding the bouquet of flowers.

“Thank you,” he took them from his hand, holding it and walking to her. “Here.”

His wife picked the bouquet up with a frown, bringing it to her nose. It had a sweet and citrus smell.

“What are those?” she looked at him, curious. “They smell delicious.”

“Orange blossoms,” Jon explained, still holding a smile. “They are from my home. My mother has a garden full of them, I imagined you would enjoy them.”

She brought them to her nose again, breathing deep. How he'd done this so quickly, she didn't know. 

“They smell amazing. Can we have those in our room?” Sansa turned to the staff member.

The man confirmed silently. 

“Of course, your royal highness.”

“Thank you,” she nodded, reaching out with it to him. “Show them to the flower lady. And then to our gardener, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

When Sansa looked at Jon, she felt her cheeks warming up with how large he was grinning.

“Darling,” he offered Sansa his arm. “May we go? I don’t want us to be late.”

She squeezed her purse closer to herself.

“Of course,” she wrapped a hand around his biceps, noting the hard muscle under it but not showing any reaction. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	7. VI

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Sansa had chuckled at the film. Smiled and chuckled. Jon had never heard her chuckle yet, so it felt like a good sign.

“Did you like it?” he questioned as she cut the food on her plate. 

They were already sat on a restaurant, dining together after the exhibit, and Jon had to admit, Sansa _indeed_ had a good taste for art. The film was beautiful.. 

“It was beautiful,” she looked up at his face. “I loved it. Thank you, Jon.”

He smiled openly in response, leaning closer to her direction.

“You’re welcome. It was indeed a great film, we should watch it again in the future.”

She nodded, eating more. He’d chosen her dish that night, still reminding her of how her body was still adapting to _normal food_ but not staying in the subject for too long.

“I would like it very much.”

Jon didn’t like silence very much. He was a chatter and almost never felt comfortable when the room fell into silence. Sansa, on the other hand, was the polar opposite. She enjoyed silence, white noise always comforted her when needed, and she just wasn’t one to speak much, especially when in a crowd. One of the lessons her mother left her before her death was that ‘ _if you don’t have anything useful to say, silence is the best option_ ’.

“Tell me something,” he said after long minutes. “What’s your favourite colour?”

She frowned, giving him a confused look.

“Beg your pardon?”

“Your favourite colour.”

She shifted in her seat, thrown off by the question and thinking for a whole moment before finally answering. 

“Blue."

“Favourite flavour?”

“Sweet-and-sour.”

Jon nodded, thinking a bit more and his eyes fell on her hand – the one that wasn’t wounded - where a diamond ring rested above her wedding ring. It was her engagement ring, but also something deeper. The ring was one King Eddard had given him to give Sansa when they became engaged, but it had once belonged to her mother, the late Queen Catelyn.

“Tell me a childhood story,” he asked in a soft voice. “Something you may miss. Anything.”

Sansa sat in silence for a moment before breathing in deep and cleaning the corners of her mouth.

“When I was seven, two years after my mother…” she interrupted herself, not ready to talk about her mother yet. “There is an oak tree the boys used to climb, the children that walked around Winterfell, it still exists somewhere in our garden. One day they were climbing it as they would usually would do, then the boys would yell ‘I am the king’ and then go down. And I was around, I was walking in the gardens that day and I saw them and said, ‘You can’t be the king, my father is the king, and then I will be the queen’. But they didn't quite like it."

Jon listened carefully, he could see where it was going but was interested in how she felt about it.

“And then one of the boys... My cousin, Joffrey, said that I couldn’t be the queen because queens are only married to kings and are only there to give birth to children. He said a woman could never be head of state.”

His eyes widened in surprise. What a brat.

“Oh,” he muttered. “That was very rude.”

Sansa confirmed slowly.

“Yes, and he also said I couldn’t climb the tree because girls were too weak.”

“Oh, really?” Jon questioned. “What did you do?”

“I climbed the tree,” Sansa shrugged. “All 25 feet up. No one else was able to go that high.”

He stared at his wife in surprise, smiling openly.

“And did you say anything?”

“Oh, I did,” she nodded, looking around with a rather pleased look on her face. “I screamed ‘Queen Sansa, the first’ and I think the world fell into dead silence.”

Jon started at her, finding a gleam in her eyes he'd never seen before. 

"What did they say?"

“Nothing,” she shrugged. “They were too surprised and then my nanny came, desperate and told me to get down.”

He started laughing discreetly and Sansa rolled her eyes as the corner of her lips curled the slightest, trying to hold back her giggles.

“I can just imagine her face,” he looked around.

“Oh, she was as outraged as she could get with me,” she tried to keep herself from laughing as her voice changed to mock her old American nanny. “Get down, Sansa, this is not ladylike.”

Jon's grin became even larger and Sansa couldn’t help herself, finally giving him a large smile and letting out the smallest of the giggles.

_Yes, a full smile. Finally! A full smile._

“When we’re home, you definitely need to show me that tree.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	8. VII

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“Well, it is still growing,” Sansa touched the tree trunk. “Must be around 65 feet, I’d say. It’s been… 15 years?” she tried to remember.

Jon looked up for a moment, trying to measure how high she’d probably gone decades ago.

They were standing in the garden, under a huge moon and surrounded by a silence that felt different than any other. 

“Weren’t you afraid of falling?” he questioned, finally looking at her again. “25 feet… That’s awfully high. Dangerous too.”

Sansa just shrugged, dismissing the thought. 

“I wasn’t thinking much,” she confessed. “I just wanted to prove them wrong.”

They stood silently, and she breathed in deep when she felt his hand in the middle of her back. 

“That seems to be something you do frequently,” he whispered and his wife turned to look at him. “Prove them wrong.”

She didn’t have an answer. Instead, she jumped a bit and sat on the closest thick branch – a relatively high one that had her legs hanging in the air when she did so – and undid her shoes, letting them fall before reaching out to the branch above her, standing up.

“What are you doing?” Jon smiled.

“Climbing it,” she looked at him like he had asked a stupid question. She was tipsy, loose. Not too drunk, but enough to ignore the danger of doing so. “What does it look like I’m doing? Hold my shoes, would you? I don’t want them dirty.”

He picked her heels from the floor, putting them on a safe branch by his side and crossing his arms.

“Be careful, you don’t want to fall down.”

His cheeky tone apparently didn't go unnoticed, and her answer was certainly matching. 

“Won’t you catch me if I do?” Sansa climbed up swiftly, surprising him. She was actually good at that.

“I will try,” he chuckled. “Be careful, though. I’m not able to fly.”

Jon was obviously having fun. If he knew that giving his wife some wine would be the key to unlocking her chatty mode, he would have done that much earlier.

“I thought the heels hurt your feet.”

He moved from his spot when he noticed how she was moving to the other side of the tree, following the strongest branches

“Come on, darling, don’t go so high. Your father will kill me if you show up hurt after our first date,” he reminded her. “I don’t think my brother will be so happy with it either.”

Sansa giggled, sitting and smiling as her legs hang, swinging like a child on a high chair.

“Hello you there,” she smiled from her place.

Jon shook his head, feeling his heart just drumming in his chest. Her cheeks were rosy red now, and her lips looked more attractive than ever now that she wouldn't stop smiling at him. 

“Will you come down, please?” he asked.

Instead, Sansa faced the landscape in front of her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply.

“I wish we could take pictures with our eyes,” his wife muttered, loud enough just for the two of them. “It’s beautiful up here. You can probably watch the sunset too. It would be lovely.”

He waited in silence as she Sansa moved down, following her with his eyes and opening his arms for her to jump when it became clear her feet couldn’t touch the ground, otherwise her tights would end up very dirty.

“Help me put on my shoes,” she muttered, both thrilled and blushing from their sudden proximity. 

He didn't.

“No need,” Jon reached out with the hand he had under her knees, taking the pair. “I’ll carry you.”

With those words, he adjusted her in his strong arms and started walking away from the tree, carrying his wife inside and holding a chuckle with the looks the two were getting along the way.

“Your Royal Highnesses!” one of the staff men rushed to them when he noticed their position.

“Don’t worry, my dear wife is just barefoot,” Jon assured him. “I’m taking her to our room. There is no need to help us.”

The man nodded, and Sansa hid her face in the crook of her husband’s neck, inhaling his rather delicious scent.

“Do you want us to dismiss the staff in your chambers, sir?” he questioned.

Her whole face burned in embarrassment and heat with the implication of his words, and she felt Jon’s hands squeezed her just a little bit tighter.

“Thank you, but no. Just give us a moment alone,” he said firmly. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

Sansa took a long breath on his neck, feeling a bit intoxicated and holding her giggles, sending shivers all over his skin. It was the wine, probably. She wouldn’t be so giggly if it wasn’t for it.

She jumped when she felt and heard the low grumble emerge from his lips, feeling something run up her spine.

“My darling,” his hand caressed the back of her thigh as they entered their room. "If you keep doing that I won’t be able to contain myself.”

Before she could say anything else, he dropped her on the bed and then knelt in front of her, putting a hand on her knee. 

“Sansa?” he whispered, moving his free hand to her chin and caressing her skin.

“Yes?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Instead of immediately answering, she leant closer to him, enough for their noses to touch.

“Please,” she finally said.

Before his wife could give up or move out, Jon cupped her cheek a pushed his lips against hers, soft and careful before his tongue was involved in the kiss. It was odd, quiet, hot, and sweet.

Goodness. If she knew that kissing felt so good, she would have done it much earlier in her life.

Not even thinking of her actions, Sansa moved her hands to pull him closer and Jon’s hands ran to her waist, pulling her close to his body until the point he was half standing, and she was sat on his thigh with her long legs spread.

“Damn, darling,” he hummed as his hands climbed their way up her back, pressing her body harder against him and moving his lips to her sweet neck when he noticed wife becoming breathless. “You smell so good.”

“You too,” she muttered back timidly, gasping loudly when she felt him nip on her skin.

Her cheeks were now not just warm but hot, and Sansa could feel the tingly feeling on her body starting to concentrate between her legs and at the tips of her breasts.

The kisses, though, didn’t harder with time. They became calmer, and when he turned to kiss her lips once again, he wasn’t hungry but sweet.

“My princess,” he touched her nose with his, moving sweetly, rubbing them together and making her crack a small smile.

His hands left her side, touching her face delicately and making circles on her cheeks with his thumbs.

They didn’t do more than that in that night, but it wasn’t a big deal for him. When they were laid on the bed, he pulled Sansa to his chest and wrapped his arm around her tightly.

He would need to adapt to her, learn her way of doing things and proceed, so things would work. It needed to work, he couldn’t fail. It would be a long journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	9. VIII

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Jon stood silently by Sansa’s side as the painter sketched the two of them. He’d taken several pictures of the two of them with his camera and was now taking more notes and details of them. Earlier in the week, Jon had had the time to look at the paintings of every single king and their queens, the princes succeeding them and every person in the history of House Stark, and reached the conclusion that King Eddard did look like the carbon copy of his great-grandfather, and Sansa had her mother’s looks. He’d had Sansa sat on a chair with Jon behind her, and she looked beautiful, but he was =growing tired of all the angles he wanted to take, and knew she was just as well.

“How many hours have we been here, again?” he whispered. 

Sansa moved her eyes to him and her lips twisted up in a quick smile that disappeared right after.

“More than I expected,” she answered in the same tone, eyes moving to the closest clock a few steps from the two of them. “At least you can still feel your legs.”

He held back a smirk, imagining if ‘legs’ was what she really meant or if Sansa had changed the part of her body in order not to sound vulgar, and tried to think of anything that wasn't her lovely _bum._

“He has enough pictures to fill the walls of the castle,” he joked, and she cracked a little smile once again. “Do you think we’ll be done by dinner time?”

Sansa rolled her eyes, still smiling a bit and gave him a playful look, and the two only noticed the painter was watching when they heard his camera clicking, which sent the duo right back to their previous posture.

“Thank you, your royal highnesses,” he stepped back. “I’ll have the first sketch back in ten days.”

Sansa confirmed politely, standing up and straightening her skirt.

“Do you have anything to do this morning? My brother is leaving in this afternoon and I’d enjoy spending some time with him and Marge.”

Sansa gave him a strange look.

“ _Marge_?” she questioned. 

Jon felt confused, but then laughed. Of course, she didn’t know Margaery’s nickname was Marge. 

“Margaery,” he corrected himself. “Sorry, it’s… It’s a family thing.”

She confirmed and moved to his side, taking the arm he’d offered, walking silently to the wing Aegon had taken when he arrived and seeing how everything was already packed for him and Queen Margaery to leave. 

Jon was younger than his brother by one year and two months, but it was easy to place at least half a decade between them. The weight of any crown was heavy. It was easy to see it by looking at Aegon. 

As soon as they arrived, Margaery ushered her brother-in-law away from Sansa and held her arm with a smile.

“Is Jon being good with you?” she questioned, looking at her sweetly.

Her hostess blushed lightly under her eyes, and Jon had to hold back a small grin.

“He is an amazing man,” she affirmed. “I don’t have any complaints.”

Margaery smiled, glancing at the two men for a moment and Sansa did the same. On the other side of the room, the brothers were talking with serious expressions but smiling from time to time.

“We know how hard the decision was on you, Sansa,” she affirmed. “Marrying someone you barely know, bringing this person to your country, to your family…”

Sansa looked down at her own hands, not sure of how she was supposed to respond to her words. It was her choice, after all. No one had forced her to marry Jon and her father had even tried to make her give up several times through the months the two had spent organising the wedding and even on the way to the church.

“We need you,” Margaery reached out, covering her hand with hers and making the princess look up at her face. “We need your help, your father’s help, any help we can get. Our country is fighting hard to survive this war and what you’re doing is more than anyone would ever do for people you’re not even responsible for.”

Hesitantly, Sansa covered her sister-in-law's hand with her free one, squeezing it in comfort.

“Thank you,” Margaery looked right into her eyes. “Thank you so much.”

She glanced from her to the men away from them. She couldn’t say she wasn’t getting anything back on the occasion. Jon was a good person and a handsome man, and he seemed to be the best she’d get in her situation. She had other options, of course, but none of them were as clear with their terms as Jon had been, nor were open to giving up what he himself had given up when marrying her. 

“You are very welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	10. IX

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It pained Jon to see his brother leave, Sansa could see that clearly even if he didn’t say anything. They were close, probably best friends and always together as they grew up, and she couldn’t imagine how it felt to him to see him go.

“Do you think we can visit them?” he questioned after they were too far to be seen or heard. “In some months, maybe? Half a year?”

“Of course,” she nodded, turning to look at him. “We can talk to our private secretary and schedule a visit when our finances and time allow. We still need to resolve the military part, ship our tropes, and decide things.”

He frowned, confused. 

“We?” he repeated. 

“Well…” Sansa turned her eyes away. “Me.”

He still didn’t seem to understand and continued to stare at her. 

“Why would you?”

She looked at him, this time being the one puzzled.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Sansa said back. “I’m the future queen, I have things to do.”

He seemed taken back by the answer, and she couldn’t help but wonder how much involvement he and his brother had in his father’s reign, or if they even had any. 

“Oh.”

She stood in silence for a moment before stepping back into the castle and listened to his steps as he followed her.

“What do you do?” he spoke again, making Sansa look right back.

What question was that?

“Beg your pardon?”

“What do you do?” he repeated, talking fast. “Do you make decisions? Do you join meetings? Do you create laws?”

His wife stared at him in surprise, both by his rushed words and his clear curiosity.

“I do join my father during meetings and no, I don’t create any laws. I learn,” Sansa pointed. “I learn what the people need and what I’m supposed to do. I learn how to speak, protocols, about the codes and… Everything.”

He stood straight, still looking at her.

“Why are you so surprised?” she questioned. “You were in line for the throne, didn’t King Rhaegar have you and your brother learning your roles?”

He went back to his usual posture, trying to hide the melancholia that his eyes expressed.

“Father didn’t want us anywhere close to him,” he muttered. “We had a tutor.”

Sansa tried not to look at him with pity. The way he said made it sound very sad and lonely. She was a lonely girl growing up, even with Arya and her other cousins, - they mostly lived in castles too far away -, always isolated by her impending position, but she always had her father. He was present in her life, was always a good friend and always made sure to have her around. Sansa couldn’t imagine a father different from him. 

“Well, our children will be following me when they are old enough,” she affirmed, trying to remain unaffected. “You may come with us if it is of your interest.”

A question seemed to roll to his tongue, but he held back as Sansa continued her way, following her steps with some distance.

“Sansa,” he called when he noticed she was ready to turn and walk into a room. “Do you want to dance?”

She turned and frowned, tilting her head to the side while staring at her husband.

“Dance? Well, I don’t see a problem.”

“It’s a date,” he smiled openly. “Meet me at eight in the ballroom and make sure you’re wearing comfortable shoes.”

* * *

Sansa stepped shyly into the ballroom, glancing around it and trying not to look awkward as she waited for Jon, opening a very small smile when her husband entered through the door opposite to hers. This was her home, she grew up within the walls of this castle and had no reason to feel strange inside one of its rooms. Still, his invitation was just so different and out of her usual routine, it just made her feel _strange._

“My lady,” he gave her a boyish smile, taking off his hat respectfully and the music started playing, filling the room.

Her husband crossed the space that separated her and reached with a hand, leaving Sansa flushed and making her suddenly realise she wasn't quite used to the rhythm he was offering her. 

“I’m not sure I can dance this,” she told him, caressing the palm of her own hand to comfort herself.

Jon’s brown eyes travelled down to the movements before back at her face.

“Don’t worry,” he insisted, holding her hand and resting his right palm in the middle of her back when she stepped into his embrace. “Put your hand on my shoulder, stay close.”

Sansa followed his instructions silently as the song kept playing.

“Now, just to the side,” he continued, moving his feet and moving a bit back to his wife could see. “And spin… This way. And back.”

It took Sansa a few tries but, eventually, they were moving around the room and just following his steps and enjoying the heat of his body against hers.

“You’re a quick learner,” her husband chuckled into her ear. “I knew you had more than a slow dance type in you.”

Sansa hid her smile by hiding her face in the crook of his neck, and when the last song was over, she just stood there. Jon had a good smell, something manly and fresh, and she could feel something close to oranges in him. It was hard to describe but still delicious.

His hand moved slowly from the middle of her back to the lower part of it, right where her hips started curving, and she could feel one of his fingers playing with the start of her skirt, playful but silently questioning if she consented to a more intimate touch.

Slowly, Jon pulled himself back, making her look at him. Sansa was almost panting just from the way he stared into her eyes, and both his touch and his gaze were sending shivers all over her skin.

“Can I kiss you?’ he finally questioned.

“Please.”

Jon leant down in a split of a second, taking her lips softly and using both his large hands to hold her waist and pull her up to his height. She parted her lips and his tongue came in contact with hers in the same gentle way, slowly creating a need inside her that seemed to be moving itself to the middle of her legs.

Sansa wasn’t dumb, she knew what that meant. A handful of times she’d felt such an urge she’d managed to relieve herself or bathe it away, but nothing had ever built her up this way.

Without thinking, she moved her hands to his shoulders and the back of his neck, tugging on the hairs there and hearing him groan very softly. It took her a moment to realise when they were moving, and Sansa jerked away from him when she felt a table underneath her.

She looked Jon in the eyes for a moment as he stopped to check if she was okay and moved to kiss him again, tugging on his hair once more when she felt her husband’s hand resting on her knee and moving up to her thigh, pushing herself against him without even noticing she was doing so.

When it was unbearable, Sansa moved away, gasping for air and letting out a very soft whine when he started kissing her neck and opening her blouse, caressing the top of one of her breasts.

Every kiss of his lips felt like liquid fire being poured on your skin, lightning every inch of her up and making the princess feel completely irrational and primal.

“Jon,” she sighed when he squeezed her thigh and felt as her husband smiled at her neck, yanking the side of her blouse away to fully cup her breast, caressing her nipple over the fabric. “ _God_.”

“Do you like this, my princess?” he questioned in a whisper.

Sansa couldn’t tell if he was asking to tease her or honestly wanted to know how she felt.

“Yes,” she gasped back.

“I wanted to take you to dinner,” he continued, moving his big fingers to her bra, pulling it down and fully releasing her breast from its confinement. “Wanted to walk around the gardens, to be like a couple in their first dates, but darling…”

Sansa closed her eyes and gasped when he tugged on her hard nub, feeling pleasure running her body.

“You shouldn’t be allowed to be so tempting,” he said with a dark tone, licking the lobe of her ear and moving down. “So beautiful.”

Her head fell back when his lips wrapped around her nipple, fully whimpering and rushing to unbutton his dress shirt when the sound of a door opening and a loud gasp made them jerk and Jon to shield her, pressing himself against her naked breast. 

They were still in the ballroom, for goodness' sake.

“Out,” her husband yelled before the person could say anything, and she rushed to pull her bra back over her breast and button her blouse up, absolutely embarrassed

Jon was completely unfazed by him, and took her hand in his. 

“Let’s take it back to our room, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/welldonebeca)
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> Find me on [Tumblr](https://welldonebeca.tumblr.com/)


	11. X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/welldonebeca)
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://welldonebeca.tumblr.com/)

Jon almost ran the way to their room as Sansa tried to follow him closely, hiding her blushing face from the staff members who maintained their discretion, certain that they knew exactly what they had been doing in the ballroom and were about to do in their room, completely embarrassed as her husband requested full privacy for them until the next morning and slammed the door behind himself.

He didn’t wait to grab her just like before, pulling her up and helping his wife put her long legs around his waist. He went back to kissing her neck and yanked the blouse off of her skirt, tearing it apart and making buttons fly everywhere; and Sansa couldn’t even believe herself in what she was doing. It was good, this all felt wonderful and nothing like what she imagined when she thought about herself getting married. 

“I want you so badly,” he whispered. “Since that kiss. Do you remember that kiss?”

Sansa nodded timidly, and he moved his hand to caress her face, running his thumb over her bottom lip.

“Do you want this?” he questioned. “We can stop anytime you want.”

“I do,” she nodded, covering his hand with hers. “I want you.”

Jon smiled, kissing his wife once again and squeezing her in his large hands. He tried to undo her bra while keeping his mouth on hers, only stopping when he realised the mission would be impossible and Sansa giggled, making him chuckle. So, he put her down and turned her around, opening it and tracing the middle of her back with his fingertips, smiling when she gasped.

“Can I?” he whispered, playing with the zip of her skirt.

“Please,” she whispered back.

He pulled it down slowly, helping Sansa out of the piece of clothing along with almost everything underneath and stepping back when she turned around to look at him, wearing only her underwear, tights and the comfortable shoes he’d requested earlier that day, resting her palms on his chest.

Jon understood the silent message, moving her fingers to his buttons and helping her undo them, never moving his brown gaze from her as they slowly revealed his chest together, and Sansa’s breath got stuck in her throat as she saw how muscular he was.

“Sansa...”

“You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever met,” she whispered, flushing and making him smile. 

Jon reached her lips with his again and kissed them gently.

“And you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes upon,” he muttered, moving a hand to cup her breast and a thumb to make little circles close to her nipple.

Sansa felt her cheeks hot, and followed after him when Jon gently pushed her to sit on their bed and knelt in front of her. He stripped her from the remaining clothes covering her body, kissed her ankles and smiled gently when his wife moved a hand to cover her most intimate part from his eyes, caressing her elbow kindly.

“Do you want to help me undress?”

She nodded shyly, and he moved closer to her, undoing his suspenders and taking them off, letting them fall to the floor as she moved forward to open his trousers fully. When they fell down to the floor, her blue eyes lingered on the clear protuberance on his underwear, wondering how his pants could even hide something like that.

Jon moved his arms to his waist, taking off his t-shirt and finally exposing his chest fully to her, and Sansa could see scars from his time as a soldier, but decided not to say anything. She’d only heard stories about when he’d been drafted to fight - mostly to give a face to their monarchy during those hard times but also working like any other man.

Sansa licked her lips when his fingertips brushed against the elastic of his briefs, glancing up at his face and feeling her whole face red and hot. 

“Go on,” her husband whispered. “Take them off.”

Her hands were shaking but she didn’t hesitate, pulling the piece down and watching as it joined the rest of their clothes on the floor before looking up to where he was throbbing for her.

_Oh, God. Is it supposed to be this thick?_

She probably looked distressed, because Jon’s hand quickly moved to her face to soothe her.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I won’t hurt you, I promise you.”

She nodded, and he smiled at the way her eyes stared at him – with eyes wide and hungry, blown pupils, and slightly gaped lips, telltale signs of her desire.

When Jon moved to kiss Sansa again, he used his arms to move his wife to the middle of the bed moved his lips to her long pale neck, caressing her torso with his hands and tracing a line from her earlobe to her collarbone, then to her chin and all the way down to the middle of her chest, making her pant. When she looked down, his deep grey eyes were glued to her face as he opened his mouth and lied wet kisses on her left breast in a random pattern, taking his time until his plump lips were wrapped around her nipple. At that moment, she could see the traces of purple in his eyes his family was so famous for, and her whole body shivered for that.

Her back arched in a response to the touch and a sigh left her lips. It was good, so good, and she felt him smile against her skin.

He kissed and licked her nipple until it was hard and wet, moving to the opposite side and doing the same thing. She was wiggling and squirming under him when he changed his path, descending to her belly button and staring up at her as he made a very interesting way down her thighs.

“Jon,” Sansa muttered.

_What was he doing?_

“Do you trust me?” he questioned, taking her back with the intensity of his words.

She took a deep breath. 

“I do.”

He licked his lips and laid a kiss on her right thigh, caressing the pale skin with his fingers.

“Don’t look away.”

With that, he spread her legs, exposing her wet folds to his eyes and making his wife breathe even faster.

He stuck his tongue out and licked a long strip on her spread lips, making her jerk and moan in surprise.

“Jon!”

He chuckled at her response, moving a hand to caress her knee before putting it over his shoulder.

“What do you think? Was it good?”

Sansa nodded quickly, breathing fast while she stared at him. 

“Do you want me to do it again?” he arched an eyebrow, looking both boyish and devilish with a smirk plastered on his face.

He knew exactly what he was doing, and she didn’t know if she should be feeling expectant or jealous about it. 

“Please.”

Jon took her opposite hand in his gently, resting her foot on the mattress by his side before positioning his head between her thighs and licking her again. His tongue made patterns on her slit with a gentle but firm confidence, and when he flicked her little nub, Sansa almost saw stars. She couldn’t control her moans. Every second, every movement, sent her far into that land where all that mattered was having more of what he was giving her.

Just when she thought he’d pulled all of his tricks, her husband surprised her by penetrating her with one thick finger, making tight circles inside her before inserting a second one, which ultimately made his wife close her eyes and arch her whole body. She knew that feeling – she’d done similar things herself – but he made everything different.

He moved his lips away, but his thumb quickly replaced them.

“Look at me,” he said in a dominant tone. “I want you to look at me when I please you. I want to hear you saying my name when I please you.”

With this, he curled his fingers, still watching her closely, and she opened her mouth widely in surprise and pleasure.

“Jon!”

“Right there,” he growled. “I’m gonna put another finger inside you, love. I need to stretch you.”

Sansa wasn’t even paying attention to his words. She could feel that urge to peak clouding her mind, this time stronger than ever.

“You’re squeezing me so tightly,” he kissed her stomach.

“Jon,” she moaned. “Please… Please.”

He arched his eyebrows in response, licking his lips.

“Kiss me…” she begged. “Your lips… Please.”

Her husband grinned when he realised what she meant. It wasn’t just a kiss. She wanted his lips back to the between of her thighs.

“Yes, your Majesty,” he whispered, not giving her time to process his words before going back to his task.

He gave her clit a long suck, and it was exactly what she needed. With a long moan, Sansa felt her whole body shaking and Jon grip one of her thighs with his free hand, not moving away as she rode the pleasure.

She was still shaking slightly when he moved to stand over her, taking his shaft in his hands and rubbing against her soaked slit.

“I’m getting in, okay?’ he whispered when she stared at him with wide eyes.

“Okay,” Sansa nodded.

Jon bit his lip, moving his eyes down, and she held her breath, both of them silent as he entered her wet channel for the first time. It was a different feeling, a stretch that hurt and burnt but nothing as close as Sansa thought it would.

“How do you feel?” he questioned. “I’m halfway in.”

Wait. That was half?

“Good,” she said between her teeth. “Please, don’t stop.”

He nodded, resting his face on her neck. He knew it’d be painful for her. 

“Almost there.”

Just a minute later, he was fully set inside her, making Sansa whine and tangle her fingers in his hair. 

“Fuck,” he cussed. “Sansa.”

She only nodded an incentive at him, and Jon pulled his hips away again, sighing and taking her lips in his. 

“You feel like home,” he whispered. 

Jon pushed himself against her once again, and Sansa cupped his face, letting out a soft moan, looking him in the eye.

He was right. It felt like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/welldonebeca)
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://welldonebeca.tumblr.com/)


	12. XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/welldonebeca)
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://welldonebeca.tumblr.com/)

“Now, don’t you look happy?” Ned joked, making his daughter’s cheeks burn in embarrassment. “I heard you and Jon had a bit of fun in the ballroom.”

Sansa was mortified, blushing red as a tomato under her father’s eyes, and moved a hand to hide her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” she babbled. “It was…”

“A purple code,” he grinned, looking up at her.

The interruption made her stop and tilt her head.

“Purple code?” the young woman frowned, confused.

Ned laughed to himself in response, discreet but with a gleam in his eyes.

“Me and your mother had usually had some… _Fun_ ,” he said with a bit of sadness in his voice. “So we created the purple code.”

Sansa was surprised. Her parents had been married for just six years when Queen Catelyn had died, and she had never thought about their relationship.

“You just tell the staff that you have a purple code somewhere, and they won’t bother you until you leave.”

She nodded, taking silent notes to herself.

“Thank you.”

“Now, sit down. There is something we need to discuss.”

She complied, sitting at the desk by his side just as he roamed his documents.

“Here,” he pulled a paper in front of her. “That’s the itinerary for my next trip.”

She ran her eyes over the paper carefully, and and raised an eyebrow at him. This wasn't what she was expecting, he wasn't supposed to go to England so soon. 

“You’re leaving tomorrow morning,” she noticed. “I didn’t think it would be so early.”

He sighed, clearly a bit frustrated.

“Sorry, my darling,” he apologised. “But I need to go. I need to meet King George.”

Sansa tried to remember a bit more of the man she had met in her only trip to the United Kingdom. He wasn’t King when she met him, just a prince and Duke of York, and a realisation hit her suddenly. 

“We didn’t go to his coronation,” she turned to him. “Why is that?”

“You were sick, I think. You got a… stomach bug,” he explained, though uncertain. “We thought it was best for you not to take the train and I couldn’t get myself to leave you alone.”

Sansa reached out, caressing his hand gently. They were very close as father and daughter, he was her best friend since her mother had died. Both had bonded over the loss, and Ned had taken a completely different decision from any other king in his choices of raising his child. Her grandfather barely had time with him as he grew up – he’d been fostered at another castle with Jon Arryn when he was very young until he became king - and that was probably the reason her father was so different with her.

“We have a reunion with the top General to confirm how many soldiers we’re sending to help King Aegon.”

She nodded. Jon’s country needed their help as quickly as possible, and having it delayed because of their wedding was very annoying.

“What about food?” Sansa questioned and glanced back at the paper, suddenly shock. “Wait, you’re spending two weeks there?” 

That was far too long!

“Yes,” he confirmed. “Oh, we’re already sending food,” he corrected her. “To the poorest cities, especially. The plan is to send enough people to fight and protect the plantations because they are literally burning everything the people plant.”

She shook her head. _Stupid Nazis._

“Is President Roosevelt’s visit scheduled?” she questioned, changing the subject.

There were so many important things to do and so little time. 

“I’m not sure,” he muttered, going through the papers. “Where is Jon?”

She raised her eyes to him, and he chuckled.

“Arryn, darling,” he specified. “Jon Arryn.”

The knock on the door made the two look up, and the private secretary that had followed her father for some good 20 years – and had fostered him as a child before that – walked into the room.

Jon Arryn was more of a father to her father than King Rickard had ever been, a man more intelligent than anyone Sansa had met. He had an answer to any question she asked and was closer to her than her Uncle Benjen and her Aunt Lyanna had even been before their separated deaths.

“Jon,” her father raised his head to look at him. “Enlighten me about President Roosevelt’s visit, please.”

Sansa turned to look at him as well, putting the itinerary aside. They could talk about that later. 

“When is he coming?” Sansa questioned. “Is his visit scheduled yet?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he moved to the table, picking a blue sheet beside her father and giving it to her. “In seven days. The castle is getting ready.”

The princess furrowed her brows.

“Seven days? The King won’t be here.”

That didn’t seem to affect Ned.

“But you will,” he turned to his daughter. “And you can easily replace me.”

She looked at him with eyes wide.

“Are you sure of that?”

“You’re going to be just fine, darling. Don’t worry.”

* * *

“I think he’s hiding something,” Sansa played with the fabric of her skirt with her fingertips.

“Who? Jon?” Arya used her elbows to lift her upper body on the mattress to look at her.

“No. Father,” she corrected her cousin. “Did you know he is leaving to go to England tomorrow morning? Right before the visit of the president!” she added. “And the trip was scheduled for next month, not tomorrow. I don’t know why he would ever change its days. Now I need to be the one with him.”

“Which president?”

“Roosevelt, United States.”

To that, all she got was silence, and she could feel Arya’s eyes as she sat on the armchair before her brown-haired cousin, still focusing on the theme.

“Jon said he’s here to discuss the war, but I already know that.”

“The one with the Nazis?” her cousin question silently.

Sansa nodded with a sigh.

“The US needs allies, and we have a big army and incredible inventions, with Luwin and his people,” she reminded her. “He is going to try his best to bring us to his side, and I’m the one with the power to decide.”

Arya tilted her head, still watching Sansa’s face intensely.

“So you need to choose if we’re fully joining this war or not?” she questioned.

“Yes.”

Sansa rested her body on the cushioned back and released a breath.

“I just hope I make the right choice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/welldonebeca)
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://welldonebeca.tumblr.com/)


	13. XII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/welldonebeca)
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://welldonebeca.tumblr.com/)

Sansa stood silently with Jon by her side as Ned walked in the direction of the Royal plane, waving from her place while at the same time praying in her thoughts for him to be safe and sound while pictures were taken of them.

“I hate flying,” she whispered to the man by her side. “He should have taken a ship or a train.”

Jon kept his silence, holding his hat respectfully over his chest. The camera had captured the moment Eddard had kissed his daughter’s forehead and shaken his hand before leaving, and were now focused on the royal couple. It was their first official public appearance together, after all, and every single one of their movements was being closely watched.

“I’m going to miss him,” she continued in a quiet voice as he took her arm and walked both to the car. “Remind me of phoning Buckingham Palace before bed tonight, please.”

“I will.”

He opened the door for her to enter the car and crossed to the other side, thanking their driver when he did the same for him.

Sansa and Eddard were very close as father and daughter. They ate together once a day, at least, and talked to one another frequently. They were friends, above all, and that made Jon slightly jealous of their relationship sometimes.

Silently, he covered her hand, making his wife look up at his eyes.

“You’re perfectly capable of standing in his place while he is away,” he declared. “You know that, don’t you?”

But this wasn't what was bugging her. 

“I’m not worrying about that,” she affirmed.

“What are you worrying about, then?”

Sansa moved her eyes away from him and smiled and waved at the people who were doing so to them through the widows.

“I can’t stop thinking about the war.”

Jon fell into silence and sighed. 

“That makes two of us, my love.”

* * *

“Sansa,” Jon muttered against the back of his wife’s neck, squeezing the middle of her body with his arm to try to get her quietly close to him.

She couldn’t sleep, and _he_ couldn't sleep because of that. 

They were lying naked, and she still felt the place between her legs aching slightly from the way he’d penetrated her, and her legs were still weak from the pleasure, but no bliss was enough to make her rest.

Finally, she untangled herself from him and stood from the bed, covering her body by tying a robe around herself, and walked to the door, knocking on it.

“Find my private secretary,” she commanded. “Tell him I want him here as fast as possible.”

The man didn’t open the door, but Jon knew he was confused just by hearing his voice.

“Right now, ma’am?”

“ _Immediately_.”

Jon Arryn was the King’s secretary and always travelled with her father, so Sansa had had her own private secretary since she was a teen, and now that she was married, his duties extended to her husband just as well. Jory Cassel had moved into the palace with his wife for practical reasons, although she was currently out in the field.

“Is everything okay?” her husband questioned just as Sansa dressed herself up and walked to her vanity to try to fix her hair as best as she could.

“I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t do this now,” she affirmed, tying her robe around herself again. “Dress up, Jory will be here at any minute. I don’t mean to make this any longer than is necessary.”

He complied in silence, covering himself and hugging her in a comforting way as soon as he was done. Jon didn’t know what was wrong, but it was clearly troubling Sansa. He only let her go after the two heard a hard knock on their door, and his wife stood straighter, more regally.

“Mr Cassel is here, ma’am,” the guard informed.

“Let him in.”

Jory walked into the room with a tired look on his face, and his hair, though pushed back, didn’t look as prim as he usually wore it, and he was avoiding looking at any place but her eyes and forehead. 

“Ma’am?”

“I need you to contact King Aegon, and for him to be here at least a day before President Roosevelt’s visit,” she commanded. “The official reunion won’t happen without my brother-in-law here. It is a matter of high importance and emergency.”

His response was just an obedient nod. Sansa wasn’t always this emphatic with her words. Again, however, she had never woken him up in the middle of the night before, so this was something of high importance.

“Can I ask you why, ma’am?”

Sansa swallowed down and glanced at Jon, who was watching her in silence.

“There is a high possibility of our country officially joining the United States in the war against Germany and its allies,” she explained. “But I have a deal to propose, and it involves their country just as well.”

She could see her husband tensing up by her side.

“Do you hold the power to take this decision, wife?” he questioned.

“I do,” she confirmed. “Now go, Jory, That’s all for today. I’ll see you early in the morning.”

He bowed respectfully.

“Goodnight ma’am. Sir.”

* * *

Bonus content: The Royal House of Stark Family Tree (Mid 1939)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/welldonebeca)
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://welldonebeca.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Link to the family tree for anyone who wants to zoom into it a bit more:  
> https://66.media.tumblr.com/101f95e0b24ebdb35511bbcc884b1c02/f278cb5f3f7ba6d0-e1/s1280x1920/da23186dc5794f203768c2476286959884710dc2.jpg


	14. XIII

Jon had to hold himself back from leading the conversation when Sansa and Aegon started to discuss the war. When he was still home and a sergeant, they would discuss matters of war and deals with other countries, but that wasn’t his role or duty, not any more.

His wife looked tense while talking to his brother-in-law about the plans of making his country one of the exigences for the Winterland to join the war. The country was bigger and had more resources, but joining the United States meant changing the focus from helping the Crownlands, and everyone needed to be sure to have everything in the right place.

“You look… Close,” Marge pointed out, walking to his side just as the other two continued to talk, not even giving them attention. “The two of you.”

Jon looked away from his wife, finally, and gave his sister-in-law a bit of a smile.

“We are, actually,” he confirmed. “We are trying our best. She is very kind and sweet when you get to know her.”

She arched him a knowing eyebrow, knowing what she’d told him before leaving.

“Oh? What else?”

He smiled, chuckling a bit.

“Very strong,” he shrugged. “And honest. She doesn’t sugar-coat things.”

If someone had told him he’d be so close to his wife by now when they first got married, he wouldn’t believe it.

“Well, you owe me now,” she reminded him. “That’s exactly what I told you.”

He chuckled, taking a breath. He could remember very well.

“Yes, you did.”

Their eyes turned to Sansa and Aegon again, and he released a tense breath.

“She is a queen already,” he whispered. “She talks like one, acts like one, looks like one… She’s amazing.”

Marge tilted her head slowly and crossed her arms.

“When she is Queen, what will you be?”

Jon froze. He’d actually never thought about that before. Honestly, he didn’t expect his wife’s position to change for a long time, so why would his.

“I have no idea.”

When he married her, he assumed he would be a king whenever Sansa ascended to the throne. His great-great-grandmother – Queen Victoria – was a queen and her husband a Prince, but this wasn’t England. Maybe his title would be different; she would be the first official queen to be crowned, whenever it happened.

“What do you think?” he muttered. “What will I be?”

Margaery’s answer, though, was completely different from what he expected.

“A very busy man.”

* * *

“Shh,” Jon said into Sansa’s ear when she let out a louder moan as he drove himself into her. “We can’t be too loud.”

It was a purple code, a very pleasant purple code.

Her skirt was pushed up to her waist and her face was hidden in his neck, and Sansa was so trying hard to keep her voice down while he pounded into her, holding her up against the wall with his arms holding her tightly against his body.

They both knew no one would be entering and interrupting them, but with visitors in the castle and new people walking around the corridors, and Jory probably waiting outside for them to finish their ‘personal’ business, Sansa didn’t want to make things more embarrassing for herself – and Jon didn’t care. This wasn’t even supposed to be happening, but when he showed up and one kiss led to another and then to other stuff, she didn’t think before wrapping her legs around his waist when he pulled her up and close.

“Faster,” she whispered when she felt him poking the special place he’d managed to find inside her, tugging on his hair and arching her whole body against his. “Jon!”

Her husband groaned in response, holding her tighter and panting in her ear.

“So good, my love,” he let out in a soft whisper. “You always feel so... fucking… good!” he emphasised his words with hard thrusts. “I’m gonna… God, baby.”

His hands squeezed her thighs – where he’d been holding her – as his thrusts became more irregular but harder, and Sansa panted when she felt him spilling inside her walls.

The two of them breathed heavily for a long moment before Jon started kissing her face and neck gently.

“You didn’t finish,” he muttered, sounding guilty, and Sansa pecked on his lips.

“It’s okay.”

But the moment he moved to pull himself out of her, her walls throbbed to get him – or any stimulation – back, making Sansa close her eyes and whimper. Using the moment, Jon carried her to the desk, lying on the surface and spreading her legs, and before Sansa could protest he was already sat on her chair, feasting in her wetness and not caring about how his own spend was mixed with it.

His wife’s lips parted open in response, her mind completely forgetting about how they were locked there for more than ten minutes already. She reached her own climax with a mute exclamation, only grounded by how Jon’s large hands pinned her down on the desk.

He slowly stood up from the chair with a grin on his face, straightening his clothes as Sansa sat up, trying to recompose herself.

“I see you at dinner, then,” he tightened his suspenders, reaching out for his suit and offering her the dark tissue he kept in his pocket to clean up a bit. “Any request?”

“I want salmon,” she cleaned her thighs, shivering for a moment, still sensitive, and fixing her underwear.

“I’ll talk to the chef,” he walked to the door, waiting until she was on her feet and decent before opening it, and stopping when he saw Jory waiting silently.

“Jory,” he smirked.

“12 minutes, sir,” their private secretary checked the clock, making him grin even more, as proud as a _caveman_.

“I guess you have three more minutes to do whatever you want,” he smirked. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”


	15. XIV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, we'll just pretend the header says All I Want and not "Wanted", okay? Thank you.

“Did he receive the protocols?” Sansa questioned Jory, reading the document in her hands. It was the President’s schedule, from his landing in just a few hours to his departure, days later.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She continued to read the document over.

“Good,” she looked up at him. “We don’t want another visitor calling me queen, do we?”

Jory just chuckled. The last visitor they had had thought Sansa was Queen Catelyn and didn’t even know her mother had passed away, and the moment was very uncomfortable.

“Where is he staying?” she asked.

Jory continued to follow her promptly.

“In the castle, ma’am, his wife and his party as well,” he informed her.

Sansa confirmed with a hum, and closed the first papers and turning to give it to him.

“Can I see the numbers?” she requested.

Jory complied silently, offering the different document and waiting while Sansa read the budget for food and spendings, slowly nodding.

“Remind my husband of this about this too,” she pointed at it. “He’ll be with the queen and the first lady while I’m with the king and the president, I want to make sure they are as comfortable as possible.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She glanced at the clock on the wall with a sigh, noticing time had already passed. The president would be in the castle in a few minutes, already. She followed her way to the front of the castle, where reception would be, and Jon instantly moved to her side.

“Nervous?”

“A bit, yes,” she breathed in deeply. “Where is Aegon?”

To answer her question, the King and his wife walking into the room, both looking rather nervous behind the serious facade.

"You know, I can do inside with you, right? I talked with Margaery, she said she can stay with the first lady, alone and..."

Sansa's face hardened, just as the stress of everything bubbled inside her chest. 

"You think I can't do this on my own?"

Jon's eyes widened, and she breathed out through her nose. Of course he wouldn't trust her in this, what was she even expecting?

"No," he shook his head. "I do think you can do this. I'm just saying you don't have to."

She just continued to stare at him, watching as he clenched his jaw. 

"Sansa..." 

“We have to go,” she emphasised. 

He off his arm hesitantly, which Sansa took in a very stiff way before they all walked through the main doors of the castle. She stood with him a few steps before Aegon and Margaery. He was a king, but this was the _Stark’s_ home after all.

President Roosevelt was paralysed from his waist down, and she couldn’t tell if he was comfortable or not in his wheelchair, although it wasn’t in her place to say anything about it. When his car pulled out, she tried to keep her composure and calm while he put on his wheelchair, and his wife stood by his side. They were properly introduced – titles and all – and soon the two groups divided, with Jon and the two women leaving the three heads of state – well, two and half - alone before they entered the conference room, where the staff had settled up tea and goodies.

“Won’t your husband stay, ma’am?” the president questioned when the doors were closed, and she had to resist _glaring_ at the older man.

“His duty is a different one, sir,” Sansa pulled back a chair, sitting down and removing her gloves, and Aegon did the same by her side. “Now,” she crossed her hands over her lap. “Shall we begin?”

* * *

Jon paced in front of the room Sansa had locked behind herself hours early with Aegon and President Roosevelt. They’d been there for a long time and even lunch was held inside. He hadn’t even had dinner yet, and it was almost midnight. Marge and Eleanor had eaten together, but he couldn’t bring himself into eating without his wife as his stomach kept twisting and turning in nervousness, something he hadn’t felt since the day they got married.

When Sansa left the room finally, she didn’t say a single word towards him, walking away in a firm and steady pace, which was enough to tell him about how that’d go. The moment Aegon left, though, he held his brother right away.

“So?”

“Deal closed,” his brother sighed. “We’re in war, all of us.”

He turned his way to follow her in quick steps, grabbing her hand and walking by her side in a comforting gesture. When they stopped in an empty corridor, he wrapped his arms around his wife, and she relaxed against him with a loud sigh.

“Go to our room,” he whispered. “Have a bath, let's eat something. You need to rest.”

Sansa might have had accepted his affection, but not the following suggestion.

“I need to find Jory and talk to my father,” she reminded him. “Talk to the kitchen and ask them to prepare our meal, I’ll be there when I’m finished.”

“How long do you think you’ll take?”

“20 minutes.”

She stepped away and Jon followed her with his eyes and until she entered her office, and finally _moved_ , sighing out and rubbing his temples. His hair was a mess already, long strands falling on his forehead and out of the careful style, but he didn’t care.

 _God,_ he begged.

 _P_ _lease,_ _please_ _, help us._

* * *


	16. XV

Jon’s hands felt like heaven on Sansa’s scalp as he massaged and scratched with the slightest with his short nails.

He’d sent the servants away for the night but not for the reasons anyone expected. He needed details of what had happened in the conference room, and Sansa needed to be eased away from the tension.

“What was the deal?” he questioned softly. “I mean, with the president and Aegon.”

She shifted on the bed, looking a bit more uncomfortable again.

“Aegon needs to be under the US’ wings,” she whispered. “Your needs protection. Food, soldiers… You know that better than anyone else.”

He hummed in confirmation. He was losing sleep since they had talked to Jory that night. He wasn’t their prince any more, but still cared about his people – well, he was, but it was complicated. He was only considered a prince _when he was there,_ and just by name.

“Turn around,” he whispered. “Lay on your back, I’ll remove your towel.”

Sansa complied silently and her husband removed the towel that covered her nakedness from his eyes, making her cheeks burn in embarrassment. It didn’t matter that he’d seen her like that several times, she still felt like a teenager with a crush whenever she was around him, especially in moments like those.

Was she still mad at him? A bit, yes. But with everything going on, fighting with him as the last thing she needed. 

Soon, the smell of coconut filled the room and made she close her eyes and breath in deep. His warm hands lied in the middle of her back, slippery and skilled and enough to make her shiver. Jon had once massaged her shoulders and proven himself to be amazing with his fingers – in more than one way -, but this was a new experiment. They had plastic under the sheets and a whole afternoon alone after he’d convinced his wife of taking some time to herself, as Aegon and Margaery were spending the day with the President and his First Lady.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, moving his hands to her left side and squeezing it. “Soft…”

She sighed, and he pressed a little kiss onto her skin. 

“Do you think they will do it?” he made a firm circle with his thumb on a spot that seemed very had right on her back.

“What?”

“Protect him.”

Sansa frowned. Why did he insist on talking about it?

“It was signed in an official document,” his wife said like it was obvious. “If they don’t, we back away, _instantly_.”

He hummed softly in confirmation, focusing on her body, and she just felt her eyelids heavy.

“How do you know how to do that?” she questioned groggily.

“I thought it was a good skill,” he chuckled. “So I decided to learn with some professionals.”

Sansa moaned softly in acknowledgement and bit her lip when she felt his hands drifting down her lower back, and he kissed the back of her neck gently.

“Now, let me help you, will you?”

She gasped when she felt his fingers on her bottom, squeezing it, and both of them giggled.

“What?’ he chuckled. “You have a nice bottom,” he squeezed it again for emphasis. “Don’t you know that, darling?”

He moved smoothly closer and, this time, Sansa just whined when his fingers moved dangerously close to her folds.

“Especially when it is right there when I please you,” he continued, his voice dropping to a more seductive tone. “At the reach of my hands.”

Her lips parted open in a long – but low – moan when as thumb circled the button over her slit and two of his fingers penetrated her, pumping inside her slowly.

“ _Jon_ ,” she whispered.

“Shh,” he kissed her thigh.

His wife complied, closing her eyes shut, and he continued softly kissing her skin.

He spread her legs delicately, finally laying a kiss right between them and making her sigh and spread them a bit farther apart.

“Close your eyes, my love,” he whispered just a few inches from her most sensitive point. “I'll take very good care of you.”


	17. XVI

Margaery’s nervousness was rubbing on Sansa from the moment she stepped into her office. Her posture was stiff and her cheeks red, and Sansa swore she could see a self-inflicted biting mark on her bottom lip.

“Can you keep a secret?” her sister-in-law asked shyly sat by the other side of her desk. “A state secret, maybe?”

She dropped her pen, pushing the budget aside and directing her attention fully to her.

“Will it cost me my life?”

Margaery shook her head and Sansa simply stood up, pointing at the sofa in front of her favourite armchair for her to sit and ringing her bell, smiling politely to the staff member who came to assist them.

“We’ll have some treats and tea, please.”

He nodded, leaving, and the redhead eyed the chair and the armchair for a moment before sitting on the sofa, as close to her as comfortably possible.

Her sister-in-law breathed deeply and nervously. Sansa and Margaery weren’t close or even friends. Their only bond was through the law, very distant, not even close to be friends much less sisters, considering they were already countries apart.

“You can’t tell Aegon. Not yet, I want to do it myself. And don’t tell Jon either, he would rush to his brother.”

Sansa just nodded, a bit confused.

“Of course, I’ll keep any information to myself,” she assured her.

“I’m pregnant,” Margaery whispered, looking terrified. “15 weeks, according to the doctors.”

Sansa stared at her with a bit of surprised. Those were supposed to be good news, right? Why did she look so nervous?

“That sounds wonderful!” she exclaimed, smiling largely.

“I know,” Marge said back in an alarmed tone. “But we are in the middle of a war! Do you think it’s wise?”

Sansa hesitated. They were all, indeed, in the middle of a war. However, it wasn’t like last century, when men – especially Kings – had to face the enemy with swords and shields. This war was to be won with soldiers and guns, and papers.

Margaery was the kind of Queen everyone said her mother had been. She was born in a noble family, the Tyrells, and had grown up around Aegon. Everyone apparently always knew they were going to get married and were in completely in love, and she had every quality a queen consort needed, as and fierce, but soft-spoken woman, and very charismatic.

“It’s not the best situation,” she decided. “But it’s not the worst. It will certainly bring the greatest joy.”

She took a long breath and closed her eyes.

“I’m just terrified.”

Sansa reached out, covering her hands with her and squeezing softly.

“Don’t,” she tried to comfort her sister-in-law. “You will be just fine.”

She pondered for a moment, but moved closer and enlaced the brunette in a gentle hug, which she returned after a few seconds.

Sansa pulled away when they heard a knock on the door, allowing the staff members to enter and serve tea to them.

“Thank you,” she muttered politely, waiting for them to leave in order to return to the subject.

They fell in silent for a moment, and Margaery slowly pulled herself together before continuing to talk.

“The doctor said I may be able to hide far less than a month, but I’m already showing,” she continued, confessing. “I’m surprised Aegon hasn’t noticed yet.”

Sansa couldn’t lie, she was equally surprised.

“How do you manage to hide the changes from him?”

“Well, I keep the lights off,” she sipped her tea. “Aegon is too sweet to even ask why.”

She didn’t respond to that. Jon loved seeing her. _All of her._

“Are you thinking of names?” Sansa tried to cheer her up, offering her a smile, and Marge face lightened up.

“Oh, plenty!” she said with excitement in her tone, blushing when she realised that, quickly lowering her voice level. “Boys are girls alike.”

“Well?”

“Elia, Desmerra, Alys or Rhaenys if the baby is a girl,” she listed. “I don’t have an order. I think Egg may suggest the first, because of the Queen Mother. Maybe her second name could be Alerie, it’s my mother’s name.”

Sansa nodded, noticing the silly nickname she’d never heard Jon mentioning, but simply not commenting on it.

“And Duncan as a first name if it is a boy. It’s Aegon’s second name, and we always said we would use it in our first boy. It’s from a bit of a legend that’s part of his family. He loves the name.”

As she spoke, Sansa could see as her eyes glowed in excitement and couldn’t hold back a smile. Margaery would be a good mother, if all this excitement turned into dedication.

“What about you?” she turned the subject around. “Are the two of you holding back because of the war?”

Sansa just gave her a shrug, relaxing on her spot.

“We aren’t holding back,” she sighed. “But… I don’t know. A little prince or princess would be a big change in our lives.”

She arched her a brown and perfectly plucked eyebrow and, she could almost physically feel the words she’d spoken to her turn and come back.

“Does he say anything about it?”

Sansa shook her head.

“No mentions. We are not… You know,” she searched for words. “I don’t know him much, _he_ doesn’t know me much. At least not as we both want and should. Sometimes, we are the best of friends, but some days… Well, we are two strangers.”


	18. XVII

Sansa wrinkled her nose to the piece of pie in front of her like it was poisonous.

“Are you okay, darling?” Jon questioned, raising his eyes from his own plate. They were dining, Aegon and Margaery had left just that morning and her father was due to land after tomorrow’s lunch, and as the castle cleaned the mess the Americans made and prepared for the return of their king, she was feeling rather... _strange_.

“What is this?” she turned to the staff man a few steps from them.

“Shepherd's pie, ma’am,” he explained. “Do you wish me to list the ingredients?”

_Shepherd’s pie. What the hell was a Shepherd’s pie?_

“No, thank you,” she decided politely, trying not to cringe. “Can you return it to the kitchen, please?”

He pulled the plate away obediently.

“Any requests, ma’am?”

She shook her head.

“I’m not hungry,” Sansa sighed. “Than you.”

“Are you okay?” Jon questioned. “Do you feel ill?”

“I’m exhausted,” she told him. “Will you take too long? I want to go to bed.”

Her husband gave her a surprised look. Sansa had never rushed him before, not even on her worst days. This was certainly not common.

“I’ll be finished in a minute.”

She relaxed onto the chair, pinching the bridge of her nose. There was a headache emerging for her, and she just wanted to be in bed before it could surface and spoil her night.

Ben husband finished his pie at a fast pace, and both of them left to their room silently.

The moment they were lied down, Jon’s hands pulled Sansa close, and she felt as if a weight being lifted off her shoulders.

“Good night,” he whispered, kissing her cheek.

“Good night.”

* * *

Sansa could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she waited for the aeroplane’s door to open. Behind her and Jon, the cameras were ready to capture the moment she’d seen her father after two weeks apart – the longest time they’d spent away from one another.

“You’re squeezing my hand very hard,” Jon whispered. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she muttered. “Just… Just miss him, that’s all.”

Her husband gave her hand a short squeeze.

“We are minutes away from seeing him,” he reminded her. “Don’t worry.”

Her eyes lightened up when they watched King Eddard stepping out of the plane and onto its stairs, and Jon immediately removed his hat in a sign of respect, placing it over his chest. When her father stepped in front of the two of them, she didn’t remember any discretion or protocol and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“I take that as you missed me,” he said in an emotional tone, and his daughter sobbed softly, which made him hug her tighter. “Don’t cry, dear. I’m back. I’m home now.”

She barely contained herself the whole way back to the castle, and jumped to question him as soon as they were inside its walls.

“Tell me about the visit.”

“The United Kingdom never changes,” he smiled softly, sitting down in his armchair as people served you some treats. “Princess Elizabeth and Margaret are adorable as ever, King George still smokes like a chimney… He and Queen Elizabeth sent you a gift, it’ll be in your room as soon as I unpack.”

She confirmed with a hum. Winston Churchill had been in her wedding, representing the royal family when they couldn’t show up.

“I need a meeting with you and the prime-minister tomorrow,” he told as if he’d just remembered that. “Bring Jory and Jon along, please.”

That made her sit straighter, suddenly anxious again.

“Is there something wrong?”

“Just catching up on the latest weeks,” he said dismissively, but Sansa could see something was indeed wrong. “Don’t worry about that, please.”

He reached out and took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together and kissing her knuckles.

“I feel so lonely when you’re not around.”

Sansa smiled.

“Well, you were the one leaving for half a month,” she reminded him. “Not me.”

But Eddard just shook his head, laughing.

“I won’t do that again, I promise,” he stared into her eyes. “You’re the person I love the most in my life.”

She kissed his hand.

“I love you too, father.”

Eventually, she had to leave him to find James and have dinner, as her hunger had grown considerably. Anxiety had made her nauseous the whole day, and she wasn’t able to eat much. Now, it was all coming back.

Sansa stopped in her tracks when she suddenly felt her head lighter, and her ears buzzing. It wasn’t the first time she had had those dizzy spells, and they were becoming fairly annoying.

“Ma’am?” she heard by her side and a hand came to support her body. “Ma’am, are you okay?”

She didn’t respond, not having the time. Before she could do anything, her knees gave out and the world went dark.


	19. XVIII

“She’s coming back,” a familiar voice said by Sansa’s side, and a warm hand came to rest on her face in a touch filled with affection.

“Sansa?” Jon called you, and she soon recognised the hand as his. “Sansa, can you hear me?”

Something warm squeezed her finger and she felt something cold on the curve of her elbow, blinking several times to adjust her eyes to the bright light above her.

When she managed to pull herself into a better state, at last, Jon was staring her with a worried look on his face.

“Hey,” her husband let out a breath, sounding beyond relieved. “How do you feel?”

She blinked a few times, still confused. What had happened?

“My head feels hot,” Sansa confessed, still a bit groggy. “What happened?”

“You were unconscious,” she heard a voice, instantly recognising as Dr Pycelle. He was their family’s official doctor, not a very charismatic person, but certainly a good profession. “Your blood pressure dropped. We were all really worried.”

She raised a hand to rub her eyelids, trying to remember the incident, but simply couldn’t.

“Is that the first time happens?” he questioned, directing his attention fully to her now.

“I’ve been having some dizzy spells lately, but I haven’t paid much attention to them," she muttered. "It's just a bit of stress, nothing big." 

The man looked worried, and she could see Jon frowning with the corner of her eyes, and looking specially displeased.

“For how long?”

“A month?” she tried to remember. “Maybe a month and a half. I can’t tell.”

He eyed her father – who she finally realised was in the room - and then her husband, and both men just looked beyond worried.

“I believe we should run some tests,” he recommended. “When did you two get married again?”

“Five months ago,” she glanced at Jon for a moment. “Almost six.”

He nodded slowly, but she was confused. Why did that matter?

“Any other symptoms?”

“Headaches,” she added. “Very annoying, to be honest.”

Pycelle stood in silence, probably thinking to himself, and walked to her.

“I’m going to need a blood sample,” he decided.

“Do you have any guesses?” her father questioned.

“Not really, your Majesty, but… Well, it can be a dietary problem or something serious, it’s best to investigate,” he walked to her and reached out closer to her arm. “May I?”

He took the sample and said his goodbyes, giving her recommendations and leaving, assuring the results would be back soon. After much insistence that she was _perfect fine_ and Jon assuring him that he’d take care of her _,_ Eddard left, and the couple was then left alone.

“You scared me,” he said, reaching out to caress her face. “Are you feeling better? I’m going to have dinner brought to us here, you are gonna rest now.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.”

He shook his head, and Sansa frowned. Why was he doing that? She was okay, and he didn't need to worry about her. 

“I’m your husband. My job is to take care of you,” he offered her a small smile. “You need to be more careful, these symptoms can’t be ignored. I didn’t know you were feeling so bad.”

His _job._ Yes. 

Sansa she shrugged, resting against the headboard of their bed, and Jon reached out, kissing her palm gently. 

“It’s probably just an iron deficiency,” she assured him. “You’ll see. Nothing to be worried about. I do need to eat more greens.”

Her husband sighed, cupping her face and laying soft kisses upon her pink lips.

“I care a lot about you,” he whispered. “I mean it. I don’t want you sick, please, be more careful?”

“Okay,” Sansa whispered back, feeling his thumbs caressing her skin. “Okay, I’ll try.”


	20. XIX

Sansa tilted her head to the side to take in the painting in front of her. It was the one she’d been waiting for since her first month married to Jon, and it looked better than anything she’d ever seen before, like looking into a mirror.

“It's beautiful,” she whispered.

Her eyes couldn’t even see the brush movements on the canvas, it just looked like a coloured photograph.

“It looks so real,” her husband looked at the slightly flushed painter in front of her. “You have a real talent, we didn’t meet more than twice.

“I have a photographic memory, sir,” he smiled. “I do my best.”

Still, she just smiled openly at him and clasped his hand in hers, causing the painter to blush deeply. 

“Thank you a lot,” Sansa smiled. “I can’t wait to see it in its place.”

She didn’t have to wait much longer. Minutes later, the picture was already in the great room where the latest Kings and their Queens also sat.

Her grandfather was there with her grandmother. She was the daughter of an earl, a woman she’d never met and who died in an accident along with her husband, leaving her father – much younger than Sansa was right now – to rule the kingdom. They looked as young as herself and Jon in their painting, and as happy together as they possibly could be. Back then, he was just a Prince, his father’s heir. It was years before he ascended to the throne, a place he didn’t stay for long. When her was 18, the two of them died in an accident, making him king. He and her mother, depicted right beside where Sansa’s own painting was now, were in the same position of the other couples in the room, looking so happy they couldn’t hide in on their faces.

And then came Sansa and Jon, and her smile left her lips. It was the first time the throne had a female heir, and their picture showed it clearly. She was the one in the centre of the image and her husband no more than the accessory the other queens had been to her ancestors.

“You have a bit of her in you,” Jon whispered by her side, not looking away from Queen Catelyn's painting. “The beauty, specially.”

She blinked a couple of times, trying to keep tears at bay. Her only memory of her mother's face was that picture. She couldn't remember any smiles or how her voice souded, and even if she tried, all that she could summon was aunt Lysa, with a different shade of red in her hair, a rounder face and a voice that sounded like she was just trying to finish any conversation with Sansa and not give her any attention. 

“Do you think our children will have my hair?” she questioned. “All of my cousins from her side have it in some shade. Everyone calls our Tully seed strong.”

“At least one of them will,” he assured her, caressing her shoulders before holding Sansa close by her waist. “With my eyes and your smile.”

She continued quiet and stiff, but when his lips moved to her neck, she closed her eyes.

“I can barely wait to start filling this place with children. Boys and girls running around, playing and bringing life to this castle. I bet they will make you smile all the time, you know I love your smile.”

Sansa sighed, trying to imagine the picture. Her father wasn’t asked yet, but she knew he wanted grandchildren. Thing was, they weren’t even _avoiding_ things when it comes to conception. Arya had even mentioned that she was supposed to be expecting already, so long after the wedding, and suggested that tracking her period would be a good idea, so they could try _a bit harder_ and with more precision and Sansa was starting to agree with her cousin.

She was still in her place when someone knocked at the door, she was surprised when her cousin walked in.

“Good evening, Jon,” she said with a smile. “I’m here to borrow your wife.”

Arya grasped her hand, and Sansa didn't even look away from her when Jon answered. 

“Be sure to give her back by eleven,” he requested. “We have some plans.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll have her back before midnight.”

Minutes later, they were were around a table waiting for dinner while she looked a mixture of nervousness and excitement.

“So, what do you have to tell me?” she asked when they were alone.

“Gendry asked for my hand!” she squeaked. “And your father said yes.”

Sansa looked at her in surprise for a moment. Gendry was the son of Robert Baratheon, Duke of Storm's End, one of her father's close friends, and he and Arya were dating for a year or so after being extremely close since both were young teens, and were the perfect pair, both quite active in life and breakers of rules and norms. Truly an ideal couple.

“That is amazing!” she exclaimed. “When did that happen?”

“This morning,” her cousin smiled openly. “We’ll be marrying as soon as possible, I’ve already been measured for the dress. I’m so excited!”

At that moment, someone opened the door and a staff member entered the room with food, and Sansa’s stomach instantly turned into a knot.

“Oh good God,” she hissed to herself and Arya’s eyes widened, snapping in the man’s direction. “What’s that smell?”

Her cousin was completely confused.

“It’s chicken,” she frowned. “Is there something wrong?”

“I’ve been ill,” she pressed her lips together, trying to control her nausea and just failing miserably. “Excuse me.”

Trying not to bump onto the anyone or anything, Sansa ran to the closest restroom and kneeled by the toilet just in time to throw up, and it didn’t take more than mere seconds to her cousin to be by her side, holding her hair out of the way and rubbing her back.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” she took a long breath.

Arya stared at her in silence and helped dry her face with a fluffy towel, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Sansa… You’re very smart. The smartest person I know. So, I’m surprised _I_ have to be the one asking you this, but...” she hesitated. “Have you considered that you might be pregnant?”

* * *

Sansa stared at the glass cup and the bow of sugar in Arya’s hand with confusion and complete scepticism.

“That’s insane,” she pointed.

“Well, it’s how my mother found out she was pregnant with me,” she said simply, shrugging. “It’s an easy method for emergencies.”

She glanced at the glass once again and then looked at her, disgusted by what they were doing. Sansa Stark, future queen, urinating in a glass.

“We are throwing that glass away after we are done.”

Arya just rolled her eyes.

“Just go.”

She entered the restroom absolutely embarrassed, and sure whatever her idea wouldn’t work, thought still following her instructions.

“That’s insane,” she repeated, from inside. “I can’t believe you’ve convinced me of doing this.”

Arya didn’t even have the decency of sounding ashamed.

“My parents were in the middle of nowhere when mummy thought she was pregnant,” she told her. “That’s how she found out she was expecting me. A great pleasant surprise.”

Arya shared many traits with her mother, her wild nature being the biggest of them. Lyanna Stark wasn’t a common princess, and her daughter wouldn’t let her legacy die in that aspect.

She washed her hands before opening the door with her face on fire, probably as red as her hair, and her cousin was just waiting.

“It’s on the counter,” she pointed and the brunette brought the cup filled of sugar with her while getting her right into the room again. “What do you do?”

Arya didn’t even look at Sansa, and she wondered if she had done any of this before. She and Gendry never refrained themselves from fooling around, that was certain, and maybe had had one pregnancy scare or another.

“I take some in a syringe,” she showed it to her and put the smaller glass – which had a thin layer of sugar in it – besides the one filled with liquid. “And put on the sugar. If it dissolves, you are not pregnant. If it clogs… We have a little prince or princess on the way.”

Sansa bit her lip as she poured the sugar and nothing happened, and frowned at her.

“How long is that supposed to take?”

“To dissolve?” her cousin looked up at her. “It happens instantly.”

Her eyes fell on the sugar, and Sansa took the syringe from her hand, pouring some more onto the crystals and waiting for a different answer.

“Darling, there is no question here,” she turned to her with a smirking. “You’re pregnant.”


	21. XX

Sansa paced around the room impatiently while waiting for Jon to get in. She’d just gotten her test results back and Arya’s weird sugar thing was actually right. She was pregnant, 12 weeks in according to Doctor Pycelle, and she needed to tell her husband.

“Sansa?” Jon opened the door. “Did you call for me?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Please, close the door.”

They were in her office, a small room close to her father’s own office ad right in one of the most crowded areas of the castle.

“Is everything alright?”

She didn’t immediately answer, fidgeting with the paper in her hands, but offered it to him after a few seconds.

Jon looked at her, and then back at the written document, as if he didn’t believe what he was seeing in there.

“Is that...”

Sansa nodded, not even letting him finish the question;

“Yes.”

His face changed completely, turning into pure joy.

“You’re pregnant!” Jon exclaimed. “God, you’re pregnant!”

He ran to her, wrapping his arms around her middle and lifting her off the ground with such an ease it was surprising. 

“Sansa, this is amazing. We’re going to be parents!”

She allowed herself onto smiling just as he kissed her lips, cupping his cheeks and repeating his words right back at him, feeling her eyes shining in joyfulness.

“We’re going to be parents.”

* * *

Sansa was thrilled as she walked into her father's office, very thrilled. Now that the news had sunk, she could barely contain herself. She wanted to smile all the time, to tell the world that she was going to be a mother, seemed just as happy. He’d called Aegon the same night she had told him the news and as soon as he was sure the line was safe and fully private, he let out the news that his brother’s baby wouldn’t be the only addition to their family. His mother – Queen Elia – was elated by the news, if her letter to Sansa was anything to be taken serious.

She was sat in the room side by side with her husband and waiting for Jory, Jon Arryn and her father, unable to even contain the smile on her face.

“Now, don’t you look happy?” Eddard entered the room with the two other men behind him. “I guess I’m not the only one with news today.”

Sansa shifted in her place. The feeling of something being wrong was crawling her skin once again. He was holding his said _news_ since he arrived, something odd. 

“You first, then,” she pointed, anxious.

“No, darling,” he smiled. “Go on. I want to hear your news first. I bet they are good, you look radiant.”

She exchanged a look with Jon and her husband held her in his hand, finally letting out the news they’d been holding for so long.

“We are expecting.”

Her father’s face changed in surprise, and the happiness, and a mix of both, and he looked at the two of them with his lips parted.

“You’re pregnant?” he whispered. “Oh, darling!”

He stood up from his chairs and pulled Sansa into a tight hug, squeezing her for a long moment.

“This is amazing,” he chocked out. “This is so amazing.”

Sansa nodded, holding him firmly to him in response, and her father back out, touching her face with adoration.

“ _Cat_ … Your mother would be so happy.”

Sansa just stared at him, cupping his cheek and caressing his skin with her thumb.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he lost his smile. “I wish I had good news for you too.”

She frowned, confused.

“What’s wrong?”

Sansa knew it. He was hiding things from her.

Her father exchanged a worried look with Jon Arryn.

“Let’s sit down,” he decided.

The moment she felt the cushion under her, Jon held her closest hand in a comforting motion.

“I’m afraid my visit to England wasn’t just for the reasons I first told you,” he stated. “I met with a doctor. The best specialist in the world, I may add.”

She waited silently, feeling her heart pounding inside her chest, and held in her lip between her teeth.

“I have a heart condition,” he explained. “The same condition that took my grandfather and my brothers Benjen and Brandon away.”

“Brandon, when you were a child?” Sansa whispered, surprised. 

Prince Brandon, her father's oldest brother, had died at just eight years old. 

“Yes.”

Her whole world crumbled and disappearing under her feet, and Sansa released Jon's hand instantly. 

“The good news,” he continued before his daughter could react. “Are that there is a surgical procedure that can fix it and I fill all the requirements.”

Tears streamed down her face before she could even control herself, and she held back any bigger reactions.

She wanted to sob and scream and cry, but she couldn’t. She was frozen in panic.

“Any bad news we should know?” Jon questioned. "About the surgery."

Her father hesitated.

“There is…” he hesitated. “There is a percentage of chance that I can die in surgery.”

“What percentage?” her husband insisted.

“50%.”

Sansa stood up, walking to the window and trying to catch her breath, suddenly realising she was hyperventilating.

“Sansa,” Jon walked behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders.

“Leave us,” she decided, not looking at him. “All of you.”

Jon hesitated.

“Are you sure?” her husband whispered, but Jory cleared his throat before she answered him.

Her husband followed him hesitantly, and Sansa waited until the door was closed to storm right in her father’s direction. Her eyes were wide and tears were streaming down her cheeks, which were now completely red. When she finally reached him, though, she didn’t know what to do.

So, she cried. She cried and cried, and Eddard held her against him with a tight grip, like the day she’d lost her mother so long ago… When Sansa pulled away, her eyes were puffy and her body was still shaking with sobs.

“What am I supposed now?” she questioned. “What are _we_ supposed to do? Dad, I can’t… I can’t even think of not having you around. “

“You are prepared for it,” he said quickly. “Sansa, I’ve trained you for the role of a Queen since the day you were born.”

“I’m not talking about being Queen! I’m talking about you dying!” she shouted, suddenly feeling small once again and her voice became no more than a whisper as she sat back down. “You’re everything I have.”

“I’m not going to die,” he knelt before her, holding her hands. “And even if I do, I’m not everything you have. You have Jon, for starters. He’s going to take care of you.”

Sansa just looked up at him, still looking just lost.

“How are you so sure?”

Eddard smiled softly.

“I wouldn’t let him marry you if I didn’t know.”

Sansa cried and he held her like a kid. Eventually, she had to leave him and her father called Jon - Arryn - back in.

“I want her coronation to be held two months following my death,” he instructed. “Start preparing things as earlier as possible. _Now_ is a good option. She’ll probably still be pregnant by them, so take that into account.”

“Sir, aren’t you being a bit pessimistic?” his secretary questioned.

“Realistic, Jon,” he corrected him. “I’m just being realistic. Would you do me a favour, please?”

The older man didn’t even hesitate.

“Of course.”

“Take care of her too. She’s gonna need a father figure, especially with a baby on the way.”

He hesitated but answered after breathing deeply.

“In case of your absence, I’ll be doing my best.”


	22. XXI

Sansa stepped through the corridor with her heart beating right in her throat, and her stomach so twisted it felt like it was going to rip itself to pieces alone inside her and she’d just spit it right out. 

She kicked her shoes away just as she entered her chapter, but froze in her spot when she caught Jon with his back turned to her, his voice sounding annoyed and bothered when he spoke next to whoever was on the other side of the line. 

“I don’t know, mother,” he sighed. “Would you be happy to have a child with a woman who seems to barely tolerate you 90% of the time if you were me? It’s almost like living with dad all over again. And now with King Eddard being sick… I just don’t know.”

The words penetrated her life a knife. Sansa wasn’t Jon’s best all y , they weren’t close but… They weren’t enemies. She didn’t ‘barely tolerate’ him, no. She was just busy, they were civil. 

Right?

Sansa closed the door behind herself with a bit of a bang, and he turned around, becoming quickly wide eyed when he recognised her. 

“I have to go, mum,” he said quickly. “I’ll call you later.”

She stood staring at him, clenching her jaw and trying to understand the turmoil inside her chest. It wasn’t supposed to hurt like this to have him saying that, right? He was entitled to his option, he was… 

“Sansa,” her husband called. “I...”

"You know if you have intentions of speaking behind my back,” she hardened her face. “I would prefer that you do it somewhere I won’t find you so easily.”

His looked down on to his own feet briefly, and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“I didn’t mean...”

“I’m sure you did. But it’s no problem, right?” she gave him an ironic smile, stripping of her jacket. “I guess since I can only tolerate you 10% of the time, I only care about 10% of what you say.”

Jon’s sigh was heavy and loud as he crossed his arms. 

“You know I didn't mean that,” he tried to remedy the situation. 

Too late now. 

“I know you didn't mean for me to hear that.”

“I...”

She threw her jacket over the closest chair, roughly removing her earrings and necklace, suddenly feeling too warm. 

“You wanna talk about it? Let’s talk about it, Jon.”

He didn’t talk for a moment, just looking at her, until Sansa turned around and raised him her eyebrows. 

“What can I sat, you just don’t seem to like me aside from sex, your highness,” he finally answered, practically hissing his words. “One would think you only want me around as a bed warmer and someone to put a child or two in your pretty belly.”

She wasn’t looking at him at the moment, but his words made her neck turn to stare at him. 

“I'm sure that comes as a great surprise with your charming personality,” she spat back. “Or the lack of one. I don’t know which one annoys me more, the man who kept trying to take command on my life, or the fake version that kept trying to butter me up like he was about to ask me for a loan.”

Jon’s face changed and twisted in a handful feeling she couldn’t quite describe or even wanted to, and he ran a hand over his own hair with impatience. 

“You are never satisfied, are you?” he covered his face, now growing in angriness. “Do you ever look at the things that people do for you and appreciate them or do you act like a child with everyone else in your life too?”

Sansa took a deep breath, completely filled with wrath this time. How  dare him? To say  they weren’t close was one thing, but to offend her so directly?!

"I'm acting like a child?” she yelled at him, feeling her words now filled with poison. “ Do you see me running behind my mother's skirts because the cruel queen isn't gifting me her constant attention while her country is in the middle of a war?  Because that’s what I just saw. "

“A war you keep me away from because you keep hoarding power for yourself!” he argued back. I’m a Captain! I gave up in being a Prince and fighting along side men of my country to marry you and be at least useful here, and what do I get in return, uh? Not a thank you! Not even the littlest bit of respect! I play the woman of this relationship and sacrifice myself and every day I have to live with the fact that this is never going to be recognised, because you, your majesty, doesn't know a thing about sacrifices or caring for any other person if not yourself!”

The words cut through her so hard that her mouth worked before her brain could give her the least of a filter. 

“Don't you dare open your mouth to tell me about sacrifices!” she rushed t stand in front of him, resisting the urge to poke his chest. “I have sacrificed all my life for the people of this country. The minute I left my mother's womb I was fated to this. The last 25 years I've lived have made me into this, and it made me marry you! You knew it when you agreed to the terms, you knew it when you gave up your titles, you knew it when you walked into that church for the rehearsal, and you knew it when you said your vows!”

Jon shook his head, almost as if he didn’t believe her words, and Sansa continued to keep her eyes in his, finally dropping what they both knew was the elephant in the room between them. 

“You knew exactly the woman you were marrying,” she insisted, though her voice was much lower now. “You knew exactly what the priorities in my life are and you knew you would never be king and nothing is gonna change that, it doesn't matter how much you fake it that you like me, how much you try to butter me up with gifts, dinners or sex."

Jon’s shoulders dropped and his lips opened and closed like a fish out of water trying to find salvation. He stepped away from her, and Sansa waited for what he’d have to say, expecting her husband to approach the subject the same blunt way Joffrey did more than once around her, but Jon sat down onto his chair and gave her a pitiful look along with a sat smile. 

“So that’s what you think of me, then?” he asked. “As someone who is trying to butter you up to steal your crown?”

She didn’t answer, just keeping her eyes on him, and Jon chuckled  sadly.

“You know, not everyone is as obsessed with power and politics as you are, Sansa,” he pointed out. “Not everyone who approaches you is trying to get something in return.”

She shook her head, remembering quite well everything she had been through in life. Every politician, smaller and bigger noble or whatever else. Her aunt Cersei had been the first to break the news to her about how people enjoyed using people in her position to get something better for their lives, and she wasn’t wrong – her son himself was one of those people, and the reason that drove Sansa into marrying Jon. 

“I’m not stupid, Jon,” she pointed out.

“No, you’re very smart,” he agreed. “But you don’t use that intelligence very wisely.”

She shot him daggers with her eyes, but Jon simply stood up. 

"You're loving with me when we're alone, sometimes, do you know that? You're warm, you're sweet... I dare say that you are yourself, Sansa. Not the Princess of Winterlands, not the Duchess of Winterfell. You're the little girl who climbed a tree because it sounded fun and like a good idea to prove the boys wrong,” he affirmed. 

She hugged herself, but he wasn’t done. 

“I don't want to be king,” Jon said without looking away from her eyes, his voice calm and steady. “I don't give a fuck to being king. If I have to be honest, I don't even know if I give a fuck about being a prince or a duke either. You can take that crown and throw it in a river and give me a little house with enough rooms for our kids and a job where I can provide for all of you, and I'll do it for the rest of my life. But what I can't do is allow you to continue to disrespect me the way you do just because you don't think I'm better than whoever else is out there.”

With that, he stepped away and made his way out of the room, and she frowned, sniffing while trying to pretend she wasn’t crying. 

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll be sleeping in another room tonight,” he said simply. “Goodnight.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/welldonebeca)
> 
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